


The Ever After

by thoughtcontagion



Series: in our bedroom after the war - what could be [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: A lot of people show up, Definitely romance, Domestic Fluff, EdWin Week, F/M, Firsts, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Letters, Living Together, Mild Language, Minor Original Character(s), Travelling together, Trust, Underage Drinking, Wedding Planning, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24008359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtcontagion/pseuds/thoughtcontagion
Summary: They were kids, fragile, stupidly hopeful kids and they were in love. Post Promised Day, written for EdWin Week 2020.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell, Mei Chan | May Chang/Alphonse Elric (mentioned)
Series: in our bedroom after the war - what could be [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186010
Comments: 42
Kudos: 79





	1. Hope

They were kids, fragile, stupidly hopeful kids and they were in love.

Back then, Edward liked that she challenged him. Winry liked that he had her back. He lost, she lost. What little makeshift family there was left, it would have to do. He had Al, she her grandmother.

His arrogant curiosity costs him more than a king would bargain. Soon, the military rips more people from her side.

He never tells her to wait, not in the beginning. There is so much for him to do, such a broad world to ask the same question, over and over again – _how, how, how_. He blames himself, his idiocy and stands on the leg, fights with the hand she gave him. Alphonse says he should write home, every now and then. Edward jokes that they burnt ‘home’ down.

She waits. She tells herself – and Den, while rubbing his belly – that she knows they will be back. Truthfully, she doesn’t; all she has is hope. Some days she doesn’t leave the house because a few more minutes tinkering in the quiet of her room might teach her something new. Something she can give Ed, lighter, faster, stronger.

* * *

Ed doesn’t really question her presence, her role. It doesn’t occur to him that she might disappear, either. Unless it’s his fault again, which he concludes it is when slamming his fist on the table, right in front of the Fuhrer. On the same note, if he makes her hurt one more time, he’ll jump off a cliff. He did make her a promise.

Winry wonders if she does, indeed, have a working brain. She ends up at Briggs, concerned about his automail and learns the horrendous fact that she is, indeed, a hostage. A liability to both their safety and their cause. It doesn’t help that amidst it all, the one man who might’ve pushed her to kill before is there and she has yet to make a decision. In a hurry, her earrings are passed to Ed. All she has is hope.

It’s all a disastrous turn of events, Edward’s whereabouts are unknown and Winry is travelling onwards with the rest of the pack. Suddenly, there’s such a thing as a Promised Day. Suddenly, the Elric brothers have a father who shoulders about as many secrets as all of them do combined. Edward is recovering, Winry is assisting however she can.

Months pass without any contact and for weeks Ed has hid in the Rockbell house, back in Resembool. No other place feels quite as safe, quite as home. He thinks it’s quiet, never mind that he’s holed up in the basement with two chimeras. At times Pinako Rockbell can be heard doing whatever upstairs, the sound of her footsteps oddly relaxing. With few days left until the big showdown, Edward is eating in Winry’s room, a place so comforting and so quiet, still. When he thinks of her, the girl walks in.

It was never on her bucket list, but now would top her crazy-things-i-do-because-of-them one, to hide away in a dirty barrel on a train. Safety and all, Winry wonders if Al often has to bear through similar situations and when he jokingly mentions having been thrown in with sheep, it both amuses her and chips away at her heart. Her house, their _home_ , however is probably the best place for her to be at the moment, what with her grandmother most likely losing her mind over their collective absence. The halls are silent, her room is dark and she is _filthy_. As her undershirt is rolled up, Winry takes note of the also silent intruder.

Although being handed to her in admittedly debatable ways, she decides that yes, her hope might not be all that stupid after all. Better get started on making some apple pies.

* * *

She’s not the first thing that weighs on his mind once they’re put in the hospital after that whole shitshow, probably because Alphonse can barely hold a glass and walk on his own. He doesn’t admit it to anyone else, but Ed thinks it’s also because one after the other, he takes joy in everyone’s little adventures and mishaps coming to an end and his… well, the best is saved for last. Soon, the brothers are climbing up that goddamn hill, more flesh and bone than they have been for years and somehow this sorry excuse of a life feels potentially worth it. Al said, when he was finally discharged, that maybe they should get in contact with their family – Ed replied by securing tickets for the first train he could find.

Now, standing before that house, that door, right where he last watched the light play in her strong, annoying eyes before leaving for battle and with his brother crushed by Den, he waits. Edward knows it’ll be a couple of moments before she’s out too, but man, did he ever think he would live to see this day. There were moments before, when he was less positive that they would return home, not that he ever really allowed himself to waver if it came to getting Al’s body back. It was Resembool, the family, the bonds that he was unsure of, once, but every time Winry made his breath catch in his throat – and there was no use counting – the aversion wore off a little. _Oh_ , his mind goes blank, defaulting his face to a smug, wide smile as the door opens.

In pure, shameless honesty, Winry doesn’t remember exactly how old Den is. What she does know, though, is that there’s something in the way the dog barks, high-pitched as though squealing, and the particular way Alphonse’s voice reverberates through the walls. She – almost – doesn’t believe it. Ed asked multiple times if she had gears for brains and turns out she did, ticking away as her legs bring her to the entrance. It’s surreal, a picture straight out of a fever dream she’s had for years. They’re there, her boys, both of her boys are home and she’s rushing for dear life. It doesn’t matter that there’s flour in her hair, dough on her apron and that she probably smells of all sorts of oil.

Once they’re up, Winry throws herself at Al, one step away from knocking him down again and she’s crying, heaving, hugging his frail body. Neither of them makes any effort to end the moment and when she eventually pulls away, eyes almost hurting, she forces herself to burn this image in her memory. They’re laughing, loud and alive, when she turns to Edward who holds her gaze steadily, unusually unguarded. Her hand leaves her side, reaches for his and where before was hard-worked, painfully cold steel, flesh fingers grab hers. Only for a moment, though.

Al sniffs the air, “Is something… burning?”

* * *

Ed finds, a few months in, that not having to chase artificial humans and Philosopher’s stones leaves him with a whole lot of free time to think. Naturally, house chores and nursing his brother, much to Al’s dismay, make up most of his day, but thoughts creep in still.

The state of the country, his last encounter with Truth, Hohenheim’s passing, are all things that weigh on his mind during the day and dark, organic flashbacks sometimes follow him at night. Before, he relied on various iterations of the same excuse, but now, no crises to take care of, there’s doubt, there’s self-deprecation. The first time one of Winry’s desks breaks from the crazy weight of her pieces, he claps his hands reflexively and when, obviously, nothing happens, Edward laughs it off awkwardly.

He would never, ever regret giving away his Gate, though at times not being able to transmute at all makes him feel helpless and it only clouds his mind more.

One day in particular, he sits angrily on the workbench and complains about the joint pains he’s having. It’s been raining for weeks and floods once every few years are pretty common for Resembool. Both brothers head over to lend a hand to the working men and while quick-witted and strong, all Ed can do to help is pass along sacs and wood and pillars; Alphonse builds a dam almost instantly. Repeat the process and his metal leg begins to rust, move slower and hurt like _hell_.

Winry, kneeling beside him, tinkers at the structure quietly. Having nothing better to do, he watches her, her long tresses falling down her shoulders and following her every move, her colorful eyes, still in place, her rosy lips that part and press together as she thinks. He’s way too conscious of her presence – and it’s annoying – he sighs.

“You should’ve worn rubber boots,” she huffs, pulling away for a bit.

“Yeah,” he nods, accustomed to ignoring most advice on maintaining his automail.

His eyes move away from his leg and her gloved hands back to her focused face. There’s a trail of dark liquid on her already stained bandana.

“Hey Winry,”

The girl lifts her head, eyebrow raised and he bends forward, runs his thumb on the dirty fabric and down her face.

"Ed!” she squeals, dropping a screwdriver.

He bursts into laughter and only snorts louder when Winry tries to wipe away the liquid, but spreads it further with her greased gloves.

“You think this is funny,” she whines and as scary as she usually is, he thinks there’s not enough animosity in her tone this time.

Winry climbs on the bench and reaches for his hair, his face, anything to get him back. Amidst defending from her retaliation, her body presses against his, sending his heart hammering and his cheeks heat up.

Eventually, both covered in grease and laughing maniacally, they part and the girl resumes her work.

“You’re a jerk.” She says, eying him slyly and a smile still playing at her lips.

“And you’re psychotic.”

“On another note, maybe I should alter your leg. The composition, I mean.”

Ed leans back into the bench, thinking, “Make it more waterproof?”

She nods, “For the time being. Maybe another alloy,” her fingers glide across the metal, “What do you think?”

Winry never really asked for his opinion when it came to automail. Edward always thought it was equal parts her knowing infinitely more about the subject and him trusting her choices indefinitely. A few minutes go by with them discussing potential elements to add and/or remove and as she loosens a couple of screws, something catches his attention.

Her frame is small and despite the taut muscles heavy work rewarded her with, she probably weighed half as much as he did. Her hands, even enveloped, were considerably tinier than his and yet, even without help, they could do so much for so many people. Winry didn’t have things like alchemy to rely on, her battles were fought with patience and intellect and skill.

Watching his amazing mechanic do what she did best, Edward thinks he might be able to do that, too.

* * *

Winry likes to keep herself busy. She enjoys having things to do, places to go. While silence makes for better work environment, there’s something about a buzzing, loud home that keeps a smile on her face. Time and time before she’s heard her grandmother complain about ‘things getting quiet around there’ and she thinks she understands, she thinks she hasn’t been this happy in a long time.

The first few months are hectic. Winry bakes multiple times a week, eventually switches from the acclaimed apple pie to other desserts, some more popular than others. Orders keep coming in and she’s running back and forth between rooms, much to Ed’s amusement (he keeps provoking her one way or another to get her to stop working. She still does it late into the night if she has to.) Most weekdays consist of shouting, automail and various cooking experiments. Sometimes Edward joins her and her grandmother, but it rarely turns out well. Weekends are spent either playing board games or taking Al on all sorts of day trips, some more successful than others. They laze around the riverside and Winry watches her boys bicker, about what, she doesn’t care – it’s the perfect opportunity to enjoy the sun. When she pours herself a glass of lemonade, the loud sound of a splash and Ed’s shriek startle her.

Alphonse pushed him off the pier and now he tries to return the favor, only for his sibling to pull away.

“You said it yourself, brother. I’m not strong enough to swim yet!”

She sighs, “Don’t stay in too long, Ed,” he turns towards her, frowning, “Automail and dirty water don’t mix.”

“You think I don’t know that,” he yells, “And I didn’t - - this isn’t even my fault!”

The boy grabs onto the wooden structure by his brother’s side, but his left leg won’t lift.

“Fuck,” he shifts his hips, flexes his thighs, “I think it got stuck somewhere. Al, stop laughing!”

Warning him not to be so brash with her _work_ , she joins at his side and carefully removes the rocks scratching his foot, despite his many, disconcerting protests.

“You’re such a baby,” she complains and he thanks by tripping her and with a yelp, Winry crashes face down into the water.

The situation evolves into a deafening, very competitive fight that dissolves when, after being trapped by the waist, her back on his chest, she manages to turn around and their noses bump, eyes locked into the other’s and faces dangerously close. On the way home, she wonders what would have happened if Al hadn’t been there – and hadn’t closely watched them, with _that_ look on his face. She learns soon enough.

They’re at a barn dance that she somehow convinced Edward to tag along for, they’re catching up with old friends and neighbors, slightly tipsy and amused; Winry shows Al how to jive and spins around with him, her heart full of joy watching his bright smile and the light shifting in his lively eyes. It was worth it, the sweat, tears, all worth it for this moment where she could see this boy she’s known her entire life, once again have a body to feel everything with.

At some point, partners are switched and Alphonse passes her with a spin to another boy, one of her customers who, Winry supposes, enthusiastically compliments her, but the music makes it hard to tell. His hands also occasionally travel tentatively to her hips, which she does not appreciate and so, she pulls away farther at each turn. After the next switch, Edward slides in, securing one of her hands in his.

“I thought you didn’t want to dance,”

He almost smirks, a bit unsure, “I needed a good partner,” Ed twirls her and his other hand rests lightly on her back; she too smiles before he teases, “And someone who wouldn’t mind being stepped on with a metal foot.”

In turn, she kicks his flesh one and draws closer to his core. He’s warm, she thinks, he’s always been like that. Whenever he carried her as kids, or let her hug him, or fell asleep next to her on the sofa, on the bed, Ed was always warm. Her chest might tighten at times, with their bodies so close, but she loves it, loves his presence and snarky comments that she always pays him back for.

He’s not the smoothest dancer, neither is she, though everyone else fades slowly as they turn and step and jump; hesitantly, Edward lifts her off the ground by the waist for a few moments and she giggles, makes him grin too. Eventually, they lose form almost completely, swinging lazily and Winry searches for his eyes. There’s warmth there too, a rare sight but one her heart knows better than she thinks.

“I need some air,” she leans in to whisper and, hand still locked in his, leads them out of the barn.

Their palms are sweaty, they’re both holding their breath and the dark of the night hides his feelings from her. Ed pulls her closer and when he kisses her, shyly at first, Winry thinks she sees stars shine bright through her lids, so she returns the gesture tenfold.

* * *

It starts with shy, fleeting moments that leave Edward breathless and dumbfounded. Sometimes they make eyes at each other during mealtimes, or on the porch, or from across the room, both waiting for the right time and the right place to engage. Other times, there’s no precedent; he’ll be pinching her arm and she’ll kiss his cheek. She’ll be tripping him and in return, he’ll trap her between his arms.

They don’t talk about it, or put a name to it, which Ed is comfortable with. Seeing her all day every day and with so much time to just _think_ , it got nigh impossible to ignore all of the feelings she triggered in him. When Winry smiled, brightly and stupidly pretty (one aspect of her he always, without missing a beat, would rebuke in a futile effort to deny the attraction) he occasionally forgot what he had to say. When she raged at him like a harpy, he returned in kind and they’d both be laughing after. When she cried, oh and she did, as she got more and more stories out of him, about his travels, his failures, his _scars_ , he almost shut down completely. His arms would snake around her shoulders, pulling her in, holding her close (and together, if he could).

Ed won’t tell Al, or anyone for that matter – except Winry, because God knows she could make him – but, to some extent, it has always been like that. He couldn’t remember a time without her in his life. She was his childhood friend, though that moniker became his primary excuse when someone confronted him about his feelings – and people _did_ , the _bastards_ – and he instead referred to her as his ‘mechanic.’ That was hardly a term of endearment, but to Edward, it meant a way to both keep her close and where she wouldn’t distract from his goal.

But now, he’s home and there’s no one to save and he goes crazy when her body gives his the time of day. He kisses her, embraces her, plays with her hair, sneaks up on her when her back is stiff in concentration, only to loudly pick her up. Why, after everything he put her through, Winry is still willing to be affectionate with him, Ed doesn’t know. Maybe he’s just lucky, for once.

One day in late fall, she drops onto the couch next to him, breathing heavily. He ditches his book and instead starts running his fingers through her long, long locks. Sitting in comfortable silence, Ed shifts so that she can lie down on his lap; her eyes are grounded by dark, sunken skin and he knows it’s because Winry works for longer than she should. When she looks at him however, and reaches to bring his face down to hers, there’s a distant gasp.  
Both of them turn towards the intruder, only to find Al with a piece of pie on a plate, his face a mixture of glee and embarrassment.

“Oh my God, finally,” he chirps and they pull away from each other instantly, flaring up, “I mean, I don’t want to _see_ you do that,” he grins, “But finally.”

* * *

The first time Ed falls asleep in Winry’s room, she’s both too tired and unaffected to wake him up. It’s a harsh winter and snow is not the only thing that’s piling up mercilessly; customers are in need of maintenance, trips to the Rockbell house are harder and harder to make and Ed? He’s been trekking for groceries and supplies all day then shoveled away as much of the snow as possible with Al.

She meant to take a look at his leg, but her head started to throb, making it very hard to concentrate; well that, and Edward sleeping soundly. So, she climbs into bed next to him, gently tugging at the covers and settling close to his chest. Winry, enjoying the newfound warmth of his body, drifts away.  
At some point, Edward jolts quickly, his movement shaking her awake. She searches the now dark room through half-lidded eyes, barely making out his sitting body; he gasps for air.

“Ed?” she whispers and for a few seconds, he doesn’t react. Winry settles her hand on his arm, rubbing with her thumb.

He exhales, a long, drawn out sigh and turns to her.

“Bad dream,” he lets out, almost unaffected; she remembers hearing hushed breaths echo through the walls before.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shrugs, “Nah, it’s not a big deal. I should go back to my room,” he joins her hand with his, “Sorry I woke you.”

“You don’t have to,”

She tugs at his shirt, pulling him down, pulling him closer, “You can sleep here.”

He hesitates, mouth hanging open with some form of protest, but ends up giving in. Edward lies back down next to her, draping one arm over her body and she snuggles back into him.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

Ed moves his hand to pull back her hair, his rough fingers ticklish on her face. Winry waits.

“It happens sometimes,” he clears his throat, “But it’s the same dream, pretty much every time. It’s more like blurry flashbacks.”

She stretches, kisses his mouth softly. For all the things Edward had to go through, she’s thankful things aren’t worse. Her mind goes to the horrendous scar on his belly, which she knows extends to his back and her stomach twists, remembering the explanation he offered about it.

He’s strong, Winry thinks, stronger than he often needs to be, especially around her. He was a tiny boy once, selling his soul to the military and roaming the country doing their dirty work. He was a tiny boy and now he’s an average-sized man, his body a story told through numerous, distinct scars. The arm he now holds her with, that shoulder is calloused from where automail used to connect to skin. The hands he touches her with, they used to make lightning and everything out of anything. She kisses him hard, this time, cups his face. Edward is stupid, loud and foul-mouthed, he never shares his pain and blames himself more than any sane person would, he’s hopeless and determined to a fault, reckless and infuriating, worrying her to death and the idiot never cries, hates himself when he makes her do it and she just…

“I love you,” she breathes against his mouth, biting back tears.

His eyes open, searching for hers in the dark and his grip tightens on her waist.

“Love you too,” he whispers before moving in to kiss her again.

* * *

Inexplicably, Edward feels restless, almost like he’s running by, or away from, something. For what it’s worth, he’s reading, he’s training and he’s being present. Him and Al now tally their sparing, he runs errands and works on the house and still, he’s missing something. One night, both brothers lie awake and end up talking about alchemy, how it stretched way beyond what they knew. He starts thinking.

Sometimes, Winry wonders about Rush Valley; the thought just comes to her. Mr. Garfiel keeps in contact still and informs that no one has taken her spot. Sometimes, she admits she misses it, the chaos, the overwhelming amount of information, the challenge. While making stew, Pinako asks about what she wants to do, to which comes the reply that she’s already doing it. Winry doesn’t take it seriously when her grandmother mentions retirement.

When they’re alone, Ed studies her body eagerly, somewhat clothed still and she learns his reactions. Alphonse calls him gross whenever he comes to bed late into the night, or doesn’t come at all. Pinako won’t stop teasing her, especially when a new purplish mark joins the family.

* * *

As days and weeks and months go by, between tending the garden and running a business, the household agrees on a thorough renovation of the house; walls will need repainting, wooden structures might have to be replaced, the roof could use a little help. Edward decides that he wants to do it himself – well, most of it – with his bare hands. Winry smiles and lays the table.

At times, both of them feel that there’s something weighing on Alphonse’s mind. While she knows Al will undoubtedly talk about it at some point, his brother pesters him, asking about the Xingese scrolls they receive every now and again.

Edward finds, soon enough, that lugging around materials and _actually_ putting them to use is a lot more tiring and time-consuming than understanding where each and every piece goes and willing them into place with one simple clap of the hands. Nevertheless, it keeps him busy, high-spirited and thinking. He hammers nails, some more crooked than others and measures planks, all while consulting Winry’s blueprints. Sometimes she’ll climb on the roof with him, if she has the time, others they paint the walls with Al, making complete messes out of one another. The substance washes out a lot harder than any of them thought so, when she tugs at his hair to get it out, they end up soundly making out in the bathroom, only to be interrupted by Alphonse’s displeased cries and knocks on the door.

Winry shows Ed how to operate most machinery available in the house, explains engines and pieces she’s built herself; there’s this sort of joy she can’t describe watching him listen, eyes focused and then put the information into practice. Edward, too, seems to be keeping something from her, but it doesn’t strike Winry as bad or life-threatening, so she waits until he’s ready. Instead, when the layers of fabric between the two become pretty much nonexistent, she decides that _she_ is ready for some other activities. She doesn’t waste time implying and traps him close to her when both Alphonse and her grandmother are out.

Then, she’s all he knows; that also makes him think. Winry admits that there’s no one else she’d be with.

* * *

One day, Al climbs on the roof too. As it turns out, both of them have been thinking of largely the same thing. They’re alchemists, driven scientists who want to tackle the unknown workings of the world, but they’re also human, puny, weak, curious humans. They once stepped into God’s territory whereas now whatever they set their minds to, whatever they decide to chase, their hands, bodies and minds would have to do. Mostly, Ed thinks, the world is so vast and alive that he just wants to see it.

For obvious reasons, Alphonse will head east, while he will travel west, to Aerugo, perhaps even Creta. In hindsight, his going to countries Amestris is known to be in conflict with might not be a good idea, but it will, again, have to do (and he knows Al really wants to see Mei again.) Their plan comes with thrill, anticipation and no deadline – this time around, they will be apart for longer than they have ever been. Before telling Winry, Ed momentarily toys with the idea of asking her to come along, but dismisses it. She’s got work, for one; still, it boils down to the potential danger it would put her in. Fortunately, Winry smiles and kisses his temple when given the news (“I kind of expected something like that.”)

That leaves Edward with one more thing to take care of, one that has been on his mind for longer than he’ll ever admit and for the first time in forever, he decides not to tell his brother.

Ed waits for the right moment, when Pinako would be by herself, without the risk of having someone else walk in on what he’s about to do. It’s embarrassing enough as it is, still he thinks – this he will do right, for once.

“What do you want?” she asks, “You’ve been looming around all day.”

Edward sits at the table, brows furrowed so tightly together they might stick that way and face beet red.

“What?”

 _Fuck_ , he clears his throat, _here we go_.

“I, uh,” Ed looks away, “I want to… Yeah. I want to propose. To Winry.”

Kind of proud he got the sentence out with the least amount of stuttering possible, his jaw drops when the elderly woman freezes in place, almost dropping her wooden spoon. Her expression morphs from shock to a weird mixture of amusement and joy Edward isn’t quite sure he’s seen before.

“Really.” She half-whispers.

For a moment, he thinks there might be tears glinting through her glasses, but Pinako’s expression softens and she laughs.

* * *

Al leaves first. Winry and Ed see him off at the train station and there’s this weird feeling pooling in her chest, not quite sadness, not quite excitement. It’s the first she’s seeing of him go off on his own, no larger-than-life crisis to deal with. Edward’s hand makes its way to hers, for a change.

A few more days and she’ll be by herself again, tinkering with her grandmother, but things feel different this time around. More than anything, Winry understands. She understands that this is what they want to do, that this is who they are. Lately she thinks more and more about Rush Valley.

One rainy morning, she wakes at sunrise to kick start a long day.

“Winry,” Pinako sighs, “I need to tell you something.”

She giggles, “That sounds weirdly ominous, grandma.”

The woman sets her coffee aside and slowly wipes at her glasses; Winry thinks she looks even older than she knows her to be.

“As much as I hate it,” she scoffs, “I won’t be able to work for much longer.”

“What do you mean?”

Pinako smiles tiredly, “I’ll probably ease myself into retirement,”

For a moment, Winry’s brain ceases to function. Admittedly, she’s worried many a time before about her grandmother overworking herself at her age, but the image of a relaxed Pinako Rockbell never quite stuck. The woman was a force once – and is one still, she thinks – to the point where esteemed automail mechanics all over the country knew of her and her prowess; Winry was proud of her grandmother, the only family she had left after her parents’ passing. She remembered sneaking in her atelier and watching her tune and build and oil metal limbs for hours on end. Without Pinako, she wouldn’t have become who she was, wouldn’t know half the things she does. Sure, at some point down the line, Winry would take over the business, but it just never seemed so… soon.

She purses her lips and takes her grandmother’s hand in hers.

“I’ll take care of our shop,”

Pinako laughs, “I have no doubt you can, but is that what you want to do? Winry,” her voice is soft, so soft, “You’re young. You’re capable. I’ve already taught you everything I know.”

She inhales, torn, “I can’t just leave you alone.”

“I may be old,” the woman scoffs, “But I’m doing fine on my own. You watched Al go,” Winry bites her lip, listening quietly, “Don’t tell me you didn’t think of going out there yourself.”

There it is, the girl thinks, that feeling she had when Alphonse Elric boarded the train to Central, eyes fiery and smile wide. Something is flourishing inside and maybe this time she’ll trust it.

“Go, you have my blessing.”

Winry laughs, “It’s not like I’m getting married.”

Pinako smiles, almost as if unconvinced. Holding tightly onto her hand, Winry asks about stories of the good old times in Rush Valley and her widely known name. Pinako, almost tearing up, cackles and tells her granddaughter to go make one for herself.

* * *

The excitement of leaving on a new journey into the unknown lacks in comparison to the disappointment Ed feels. Winry is walking him to the station, it’ll only be a few minutes until Resembool blends into the scenery out the window and he has no idea where his guts are (if he has any when it comes to his ‘mechanic’.)

Winry can’t quite put a finger on it, but Edward has been acting strange the past few days; there’s something he has to say, she thinks. She, too, has something to say, something that has to do with packing her bags and setting out for ‘the holy land of automail’ as soon as next week.

Ed stalls, Winry chatters away about maintenance and appointments. He thinks it’s funny, she wonders why he’s so quiet now.

The train arrives loudly and he almost, almost boards it when the whole situation suddenly becomes so absurd. He’s wasting time looking for perfect timings and smooth, tear-jerking speeches he not only wouldn’t be able to pull off, but would feel so stupid doing. This is Winry Rockbell, the pretty mechanic who offered him a home. So Ed says what he can.

She accepts, loudly and proudly, he’s all out of words.  
Winry watches his train leave, the high of the moment slowly wearing off. It doesn’t feel real, maybe it won’t for a while. There’s so much she wants to do with and tell the headstrong alchemist who stole her heart away. _All in due time_ , she thinks. They’ve got the rest of their lives to see the world and find each other; the journey’s just beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello there (:  
> i am pretty new to this whole thing - and to writing about this series specifically - but i just had some ideas. this was initially written for EdWin Week 2020, but a) i really struggle to keep things pg and b) i obviously couldn't get it done in time. anyway, i'm still going off the prompts of the event, which is why there are 5 chapters planned.  
> (hopefully they will exist)  
> this will be equally split between ed and winry's pov's, for some reason. i hope it works.  
> until next time!


	2. Memories

_Dear Edward,_

_I received your letter. I’m glad to hear you made it through to Creta safely. Luckily, Winry was able to give you this address. I am currently staying at the royal palace and I can’t even describe how beautiful everything is. It is also really hot and dry, but Mei says that I’ll adjust to it over time._

_Speaking of, she passes her regards. So do Lan Fan and Ling, for that matter. In case you were worried about them, which I know you are, everyone is doing alright for the most part. Sometimes Lan Fan’s arm will hurt and glide less smoothly, but what can you do? Automail mechanics are few and far between around here, though Winry promised that she would prepare a package to help with her maintenance; it should be here any day, hopefully. As for Ling, the Philosopher’s Stone is still within his possession, hidden safely somewhere in his chambers. Mei and I have no idea where it might be, but I suppose that that’s the point. It’s a bit of a slower and more delicate process, but I think that he has solidified his claim to the throne. Before you ask, Fu has long since been given a proper, honorary funerary. I’ve just visited his memorial the other day._

_Also, I started looking into alkahestry with Mei. Grasping the basics of it will take some time, but I’ll be sure to pay a visit to the monks she’s told me about at a later point. What I can say, though, is that it is completely different to western-type alchemy. I hope that things are going well on your end, too. Winry mentioned that you are looking for that man, what was his name again? Let me know how that goes._

_Now that all of that’s out of the way, I would like to know why grandma Pinako, of all people, had to tell me that you got engaged, brother! Not only do you not call, you barely write and now you, both of you, kept this from me! I feel hurt and betrayed (also, do not dare get married in my absence.) Make sure you write Winry and call home every once in a while. I hear she’s doing really well too, but I imagine you knew that already._

_Love,_

_Alphonse_

_P.S. If you’re going to use a different name in your letters, at least think of a better one, ‘Woody.’_

* * *

It’s been a couple of months since Ed’s left Amestris. Al’s letter arrives on a Wednesday, he thinks, as he’s scraping a breakfast with some of his mates. He reads the piece with interest and at times, it’s as if he can actually hear his little brother chastise him. There aren’t a lot of supplies on hand – or time – to write a reply, so he makes a mental note to do it at a later time; he’s got a long day ahead after all.

Arriving to Creta, the first thing he learns is to be thankful for his rather xerxesian features because certain foreigners aren’t exactly welcome over here. It’s disheartening, though fascinating still, how a country can be so violently divided between its inhabitants. Some tribes show more hospitality than others, some people despise Amestrians more than others; either way, Edward can’t really blame them.

His quest was loosely based on researching alchemic notions and beliefs and so he has a lead, a starting point, but progress comes slower as he gets increasingly more involved with the citizens. Due to perpetual conflicts over the centuries, Creta lacks largely in technology, not to mention the palpable difference in alchemic skills when compared to his country. Despite all of that, Ed doesn’t mind. He’s got time to see, time to learn, to understand. For a while, he travels with a group of zoologists across parts of a jungle – he’s agreed to do some work and help with their studies in return for guidance to the other end of the forest, where a famed scientist is rumored to live.

“What’s that?” Jean, a fairly tall yet rather slender man, asks when Ed’s looking over his letter. He’s an entomologist, weirdly intrigued by all sorts of bright-colored bugs and the two get along surprisingly well.

“It was sent from the Central Government to the village. The doctor passed it over,”

“From your girl?”

A faint smile tugs at Ed’s lips, but he shakes his head. Deep within his rucksack, inside an envelope, there’s a picture of him, Jean and another man from the group, taken the other day by the ruins, in the middle of the jungle. It’s not a particularly flattering photograph, he’s dirty as all hell, but that’s all he’s got. Next to it is a rough draft he plans to mail to Rush Valley as soon as he gets the chance.

“It’s from my brother.”

“Oh,” Jean bites on his makeshift sandwich, “Al, right?”

“Yeah, he’s travelling too,”

“Well, I hope it’s all good news.” He offers a smile, vaguely reminiscent of Alphonse’s.

Ed nods, quite pleased with the letter himself. One of the girls exits her tent and urges them to finish since they’re behind on the schedule and the weather might not play in their favor for much longer. Hurriedly, he munches on his bread and prepares for another day spent in the wilderness. Hopefully, the lot of them would arrive at another village soon and lend a hand around – recent thunderstorms left behind a trail of mass destruction.

* * *

_Dear Winry,_

_I’m currently in a place I can’t pronounce, tagging along with some people studying wild animals. I don’t know a lot about that other than hybridization, but they don’t need to know that._

_I’m mailing this to Garfiel’s shop because the old hag said you aren’t in Resembool anymore. Why didn’t I hear of that?_

_Nevermind, just got your letter. Look at you go, you automail freak. Clark, one of the guys, said your work was neat. Al also wrote, seems like he’s doing fine. I got bitten by some sort of fat, ugly mosquito and it hurts, but they say I’ll survive. Anyway, we’re almost there._

_I don’t think I’ll be able to call unless we reach civilization again. The leg’s holding up fine._

_Yours,_

_Ed_

* * *

“Paninya!” Winry whines, pulling herself away from her friend’s clutches.

The girl, pouting, releases her with a drawn out sigh. She’s cleaned herself nicely, hair slicked back into a neat ponytail and traded her usual cargo pants for something more tailored. It was supposed to be a night out, to which Winry vaguely remembers agreeing, postponed time and time again because of ‘work.’ In all truth, there’s not much she has to do for the rest of the day, but the prospect of having a drink at this one bar this one guy works at doesn’t appeal to her mood. She offered her help once and he hasn’t left her alone ever since, despite the fact that she’s – for the most part – engaged to somebody else.

“You _promised_.” Paninya insists, hands on her hips, “Is this because of Russell? It’s because of Russell.”

She sighs, putting away her wrenches. It’s not like she’s incapable of telling this insensitive douche off, in fact she’s been doing just that, but is just too tired to go out and act her age.

“C’mon, Win, we’ll be back before midnight!”

Winry rolls her eyes, but smiles, “You say that every single time.”

Beaming, Paninya drags her by the hand, “This time I mean it,”

Life in Rush Valley was every bit how she remembered it. A place full of automail enthusiasts trying to make it big, but also like-minded people that worked, drank and danced their lives away. One beautiful mess it was and Winry loved it even more than before; regardless of that, she still made it a habit to call home religiously and send her grandmother pictures and other things.

It also filled her heart with joy that all of her old clients returned to Garfiel’s atelier, all smiles at seeing her there once more. The room in his apartment was never occupied either. If there’s time to spare, Winry visits Dominic and his family and even bakes for his grandchild occasionally. Slowly, the stubborn old man opens up to her again and, little by little, begins explaining various techniques over dinner (which she’s always welcome to stay for.)

For the most part, her days consist of automail, shenanigans and reading. Sometimes she’ll humor Paninya on an outing, sometimes she’ll chat with her grandmother. Oh, Winry thinks about her boys too, from time to time, wondering what they might be up to. Alphonse writes constantly, though the tedious shipping process often causes his letters to arrive in bulk, regardless of the trade route Roy Mustang is trying to set in motion. He talks about customs that pique his interest in large and about alchemy briefly, but barely mentioning his Xingese princess.

The other brother, however, goes on weeks without any form of contact. In fact, Ed takes to calling much better than writing as of late, if the circumstances allow. He’ll ring the atelier at loaded hours, nonchalantly reporting about his whereabouts and activities, though only for a few minutes and proceeds to then listen to her go off in kind. Sitting at the counter in Garfiel’s atelier, receiver in hand, Winry pictures what having their own place in Rush Valley would be like. Still, all that isn’t to say he doesn’t write _at all_ , because at the bottom of her top drawer, there are two letters, both signed under different, random names as means of censorship and protection (“Damn, they’re cutthroat here, Win”) that she finds hilarious (“Who are you going to be next time, Ed?” “Wouldn’t you like to know.”) Last time, he even slipped in a photograph of him out in the wild, slightly sunburned and sporting his typical stupid expression. She loves it.

* * *

_Dear Edward,_

_I’m sorry it took longer to reply, there’s just a lot going on right now. Paninya fell off a roof and broke her arm (don’t ask), a pipe broke in Mr. Garfiel’s apartment (again, don’t ask) and I’m stressing over this big order that came in yesterday. My back hurts like hell after I’ve crouched under the sink for literal hours, trying to stop the flow. For a top notch engineer like him, you’d think this wouldn’t happen._

_You should be more careful out there, Ed. I don’t want you spreading some sort of plague when you’re back. Didn’t you say you had an entomologist around? Anyway, be careful with your leg, it looks like it’s going to be hard to get to you. Wipe it clean, dry it, oil it. Don’t mess with the screws! Of course, avoiding conflicts is prophylaxis at its finest, but to be honest, I don’t trust you to do that._

_I got a call from Central a few days ago, Miss Riza wanted to know what you were up to. It seems things are a bit hectic over at headquarters too, they have to stay overtime a lot. I get the feeling she’s doing more work than Mustang, though._

_There’s not much else to say, I guess. Well, I also miss you, occasionally; no one gets on my nerves quite as much. Stay safe wherever you are._

_Love,_

_Winry_

_P.S. I might or might not have told the Lieutenant some things._

* * *

“So it was a dead end, huh?”

Ed leans into the receiver after managing to set up a decent connection, two failed attempts later. Even so, Alphonse’s voice sounded a bit off still.

“Well, as far as alchemy goes, maybe. But the guy’s a fine physicist, for what it’s worth.” He pauses, ponders momentarily, “He’s got this theory about entropy that might tie in with what you’ve been saying.”

“Nice,” Al adds, “Anything else?”

“I’m travelling to Aerugo soon. Sailing was fun, but these guys are crazy,” Ed grins, reminiscing, “Last week we caught a shark, Al, a freaking _shark_!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it was huge. Three times my size, I think,”

Alphonse laughs, “But that sounds kind of small though.”

“HEY NOW.”

“Easy, brother,” his shoulders relax, “We don’t want people to think you’re deranged.”

Edward chuckles too, taking in his voice and he rubs his eyes, gazes out the window. How long has it been, he wonders – five months, four? Weeks pass like days when you have things to do and he was never one to keep track of time. Calls were expensive, especially across different nations, otherwise he would’ve spent hours explaining pipe systems, wave patterns and sun positions, even. He already spent enough money on an extensive lecture Winry decided to hold on the differences between engine types a month prior, all because he mentioned this one book he had found in a library (Ed left out the fact that he also bought said book.)

“Yeah, yeah,”

“Did you at least get a picture of it?”

He hesitates, “…No.”

“That sounds like a yes,”

He doesn’t reply, only checks the time on his watch. He will soon have to leave.

“You sent Winry the picture, didn’t you?”

His cheeks warm at her name; Ed was actually proud of their catch and the physical proof of it, so much so that he scribbled a few lines on a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and mailed it all at once. In hindsight, he could’ve spared a few minutes to procure new supplies he would later need anyway.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. What’s next, then?”

He frowns, “I don’t really have a place in mind. I’m thinking professors, for now.” Voices echo from outside, reminding Edward of a couple more things he needed to get done before setting out again.

Interestingly, he doesn’t miss home as much as one would think. Admittedly, he didn’t before, when both him and incorporeal Alphonse ran around Amestris, eyes set on Philosopher’s Stones and the like. Perhaps it wasn’t such a big deal that Resembool became an afterthought in the process and he chalks it up to the novelty, the excitement that comes with a new journey. Still, amidst strenuous tasks that thin down the enthusiasm, his back feels stiff, his body colder and his sleeping place half-empty. Ed keeps busy whenever he thinks it’s not home he’s longing for.

* * *

_Dear Winry,_

_Just what are you doing over there?_

_Thanks for the obvious concern for my health. No, it isn’t contagious and yes, I’ve healed. I’m on my way to the capital right now, trying to get in touch with some other scientists. Sailing wasn’t as bad as you said and look, I caught a shark. _

_On another note, can you explain why Mustang got me diplomatic immunity, or why he knew I was crossing into Aerugo, specifically?_

_Yours,_

_Ed_

_P.S. Why are you using words like ‘prophylaxis.’_

* * *

A weekend in Central seemed like a good idea at the time however, as she unpacks her suitcase, Winry concludes that her head might split open if it keeps hurting as bad as it does. The initial plan was to attend an automail convention, meet up with Major Armstrong to discuss a potential piece for one of his subordinates and ultimately catch up on sleepless nights in a nice hotel room. What ended up happening involved almost all of the above with the addition of matchmaking her boss, entering a competition and chaperoning her friend at the after-party. Overall, she was twice as tired as she had imagined being.

On a more positive note, Winry did win the contest and was rewarded with both exposure and luckily financial gain as more money was always welcome (she once told Ed that it’d be nice to have your own atelier later down the line to which he replied with a prompt ‘do it.’) She scans her surroundings, the room is a complete mess – an empty, used mug on the desk and a couple of slanted screws next to it, some overly-stained jumpsuits on the back of her chair, waiting desperately for laundry day to come, her favorite magnifying glass that she broke recently, glass shards spread on the nightstand. Had she carried herself like that back in Resembool, her grandmother would’ve thrown her out of the house. If Garfiel, the embodiment of sophistication, actually entered her room – which he doesn’t, because _privacy_ – the man would do the same _and_ have her pay up for the offence.

If only she could sleep, what with her throbbing forehead. Winry leans back on the bed, grunting and when she does, her eyes land on an unfamiliar box on the floor. Upon closer inspection, it appears to be a hastily wrapped package that she only now remembers the mailman hand her before rushing out the door to catch her train. There are words scribbled on its side, seemingly in a hurry; Winry doesn’t know a ‘Neal’ that would’ve sent her that, but she knows an ‘Ed.’ Inside, there’s a book, a photograph and a rough-looking piece of paper he probably passed off for a letter. A tiny smile turns into a grin that stretches from one ear to the other. It’s not his warm, broad chest, but it’ll do for a while.

It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep soon after.

* * *

Fall gives way to winter as Ed researches various transmutation circles alongside certified professors at Aerugo National College, while Winry adds more coin to the bank with every new project.

It frustrates him, in the beginning, to have to rely on others for his work. Hypotheses and knowledge don’t amount to anything if not put into practice, but thankfully, the other scientists take his input at face value and refrain from asking too much about his inability to use alchemy. The information he now possesses, Ed knows, isn’t groundbreaking by any means, but in the grand scheme of things, it might build up to something, he hopes it will. At times when it rains, his leg will hurt through the night, making it impossible to sleep and he curls into himself unconsciously; he thinks of her when that happens.

In-between appointments, Winry spends time reading more about finances and ethics and wonders if she could trademark her creations at some point. Initially, the business side of automail is brought up over coffee in the morning, with some reservations and surprisingly – or perhaps not so much – Mr. Garfiel offers good perspective and advice. He tells her that if one day she wanted to leave, he would support her decision, even if it meant losing his best mechanic. Winry doesn’t know how to respond. This pressure to constantly push herself beyond limits isn’t new by any means, although it hits differently now that she’s fending for herself. Pinako listens to her ramblings over the phone and it eases the stress; even so, sometimes she wishes Edward was there to drape his arm around her and kiss her senseless.

* * *

“A letter came in today, it’s from Al. Did you get one too?”

“Yeah. He asked if I could make it to the coronation, apparently Ling wants me there.”

“Me too, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Al said it’d be nice if we could head there together.”

“Travelling to Xing? That might be dangerous,”

“Dangerous or not, I was officially invited, so.”

“What?”

“Oh, the scroll, it looks quite fancy. I take it you didn’t get one?”

“…”

“' _It would be an honor if you were to attend the ceremony, should you please, Miss Rockbell_.'”

“Shut up. You know that’s just because he can’t risk sending it wherever I am,”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

* * *

About seven months in, they make plans to meet. Edward is skeptical, Winry excited - the prospect of crossing the desert and visiting the vast country in the east distracts from their daily tasks.

Ed toys with the idea of it upon receiving a telegram from Central, bearing the military crest. He learns that Mustang was previously notified about their potential trip and insists on good behavior on their part and a reply should Winry and him decide to attend the coronation. Edward doesn’t offer one, mostly because he doesn’t care to, but also because he knows his companion will.

Amidst his quest for information, he was asked to speak at a few conferences around the country, even hold a couple of lectures for students, which only feeds into Ed’s ego. His nerves almost get to him in the beginning still, but talking at length about alchemy quickly gains his undivided attention and he concludes that this, too, is progress. He doesn’t linger around afterwards, though, so as to avoid questions he doesn’t want to answer; for better or for worse, the ‘Fullmetal Alchemist’ is quite famous even around those parts.

Winry informs her boss about her upcoming expedition abroad and plans ahead for the upcoming couple of months that she’ll spend working and dealing with looser ends. She grows more excited with each moment, wondering about the day she’ll get to see Alphonse again, together with old friends that she can’t wait to catch up with. Her heart flutters at the thought of seeing Ed, too, back in Central; there’s only so much phones and papers can convey. Touch, warmth, presence, those are all things Winry misses and each time her lover takes longer to hang up, she feels that he does as well.

Every once in a while, she’ll be approached by publicists doing articles on Rush Valley; some of them mistake her for a receptionist (“But miss, you’re so young!”) while others come in asking to meet the infamous mechanic working under Garfiel. Either way, Winry answers questions politely, tours her workrooms and presents her best works. It’s exhausting, she thinks, but par for the course because, in the end, this is what she chose to pursue and there’s pride in the nights she spends tinkering away under dim lamplight.

* * *

_Dear Edward,_

_I’ve only just finished wiring a hand. I hate having to do the fingers individually, but it was pretty fun this time around; the client’s really entertaining. In fact, I recognized him from one of your photos and he told me that he knew you, too. He does a lot of heavy-duty work, so I figured I could reproduce one of the models I used to build for you._

_Also, I’m not sure if I mentioned this before – you remember I made this piece for Major Armstrong (well, for one of his men, actually.) More orders from the military have come in recently and… I don’t know that I want my work to end up being used to hurt people. It’s true that my clients may very well do that anyway, but this doesn’t feel right, I guess. I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe I just need to stop thinking._

_How are you, Ed? You haven’t called lately. I heard there’s some hostility around the border right now, so be careful. It feels like I haven’t said this in a while, but. I love you._

_Yours,_

_Winry_

* * *

_Dear Winry,_

_Damn, I hope nobody checks this. Aerugan spies are taping phone calls randomly around the country so I can’t get in contact any other way._

_Don’t do it if you don’t want to. It’s their loss, but on the flipside, your automail shouldn’t be used for stuff like that. I promised someone I’d introduce them to a mechanic and she should arrive ~~soon~~ probably earlier than this letter does, at this point. Transport is kind of screwed right now. _

_I’m buried in books. One of the guys got sick and I had to step in and hold his class for the entire week which sucked because there’s this slum on the outskirts of the city that I wanted to check out. I’ll be leaving tomorrow, as of writing this. See you in Central in a few weeks, I guess. _

_I miss you_

_Love,_

_Edward_

* * *

At long last, Ed leaves for Amestris again. Winry secures a one-way ticket to Central.

Deep down, it almost scares Edward to think that on her end, things might have changed equally as much if not more. He’s spent the better part of a year jumping around from place to place, meeting all sorts of people with contrasting views on everything he knew and believed. He’s traveled to remote areas and helped build houses and clean water systems. He’s had the chance to study alongside well-versed alchemists who thought of him as one too. Still, that isn’t to say his journey had been entirely easy. The world knew war and loss intimately, heart-break and poverty. Humans, all part of the same race, degraded each other based on things beyond anyone’s control. There were times when blurry, uncannily organic visions choked him in his sleep, or left his ports aching and he clung onto his leg, gasping for air.

Other times he wondered about his brother’s whereabouts, safety and thoughts. Whenever Alphonse took too long to answer, there was this annoying, constant tinge of concern, despite all rationale – but Al always got in touch in the end, one way or the other. Same as Winry whom, Edward concluded, was amazing. That girl packed her bags and left to become a household name in automail business and as far as he was concerned, she was well on the right track. He was proud because, when this random woman he met mentioned Rush Valley and how this country girl took the place by storm, Ed didn’t doubt for a second that that was Winry Rockbell. In return for a quick favor, he offers this person – who also happened to be a crafty jeweler – Winry’s contact details.

When the woman arrives in Rush Valley looking to make an appointment at Atelier Garfiel, Winry is thrilled to hear that she comes with updates regarding Edward. The woman, she decides, needs a new limb built from scratch, which she can provide in due time. Then, she passes Winry a thick envelope containing a few new photographs of him, coupled with a bunch of short notes full of crossed out thoughts; there’s this picture of Ed in a beautifully decorated library, face sharp in concentration (she slips it into her wallet.) Winry listens to second-hand retelling of some of his adventures with copious interest, reminded that they’ll meet, flesh and bone, soon.

However, there are times when she simply stares out the window and evenings spent walking around with Paninya, joining in on her social outings, but her mind travels elsewhere. She debates herself about herself, but Paninya promptly chastises her to ‘get her head out of her ass.’ If anything, the months spent in Rush Valley taught Winry two things – one, never take both your boss and hyperactive friend on the same trip and two, hard work and wit could get you anywhere if you tried, same as solid, valid critique. As for her boys, she misses them like crazy. Winry was used to watching them come and go, was used to waiting for them while she was off doing her own thing, but they weren’t kids fighting larger-than-life battles anymore. They were family and family you just miss.

* * *

Edward calls as soon as he arrives in South City to let Winry know that he’ll be in Central as early as the next day. He doesn’t waste a lot of time chitchatting and instead asks about her train there (she remarks that he’s being ‘oddly impatient.’)

He checks in with the military and half-heartedly agrees to head over to Mustang’s ( _What was his rank now?_ He was unsure) office in the morning to discuss some of his findings. Ed was fortunate – or unfortunate – enough to come in contact with certain individuals and groups while in Aerugo, obtaining potentially valuable information in the process. He was no longer a State Alchemist nor did he want to be, but there’s no harm in earning a nice favor you could cash in at a later time.

Ed takes advantage of the few hours until Winry’s arrival to pay a visit to Maes Hughes’ grave. He stays silent, mostly and only places a large, colorful bouquet on the ground.

“This one’s from her too. We don’t really have time to come here again tomorrow, sorry,” Edward whispers and his face breaks into a rare, meek smile, “But yeah, uh. You were right.”

* * *

When the train reaches Central at sunset, Winry retrieves her suitcase and toolbox, thanking an officer for helping; excitedly, she jumps off onto the platform and snakes her way through the crowd. Ed said that there would be someone to pick her up and the girl half expected Alex Louis Armstrong to act as the ‘landmark’ once again. Instead, pretty far in the back, Edward Elric stands, golden eyes vivid and chin up.

Her feet move before her mind does.

“Hey stupid,” she breaths, beaming up at him, “Did you miss me?”

Ed, too, smiles, a wide grin stretching across his face; he’s tanner than she remembers and there’s stubble on his cheeks, his hair, pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, must have grown too. If she didn’t know any better, Winry would stare him down and memorize every single line that’s changed, every new freckle, but there’s no need and no time. His arms reach and close around her torso and when he lifts her body, the luggage hits the ground soundly.

“You wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh, i'm just so torn between rereading for the umpteenth time and not being astronomically late (which i will end up being either way).  
> also, thanks for reading so far, it's making me happy during this time. ed's travels are based on this illustration:  
> https://www.zerochan.net/full/1625150  
> also, the whole gang at ling's coronation is best headcanon, so.  
> until next time!


	3. Family

Soft, jittery rays of light play around the room as the trees outside dance with the wind. Winry inhales deeply, brain picking up on the cacophony of random voices and car noises vaguely reverberating through the walls. When she stretches the stiff muscles in her body, an arm twitches on her waist reflexively. Edward’s breathing hits at the nape of her neck, steady and slow and ticklish.

“Ed,” she half yawns, half mewls, “I think we need to get up,”

He grunts and shifts in position, skin warm against hers. Eventually, he clears his throat.

“Whassa rush?”

In a swift motion, Winry turns around and plants a kiss on his jaw, “We have a train to catch.”

He now searches for her face with half-lidded eyes; fingers reach her bangs, pulling them back and revealing her forehead.

“At noon.”

“I also need to take a look at your leg.”

“The leg’s fine,” says Ed, defensively.

“You were _limping_ last night, remember?”

For a couple of seconds, his expression doesn’t change, eyes still not fully open; then, the corners of his mouth curve upwards cockily.

“And _you_ didn’t seem to care.”

Winry blinks and flaring up, bites his shoulder. Edward startles against her and groans, much louder this time. When they stare at one another, she knows from the salty look he’s sporting that some form of revenge will come at a later date.

Breathing in, Ed removes himself and sits up on the bed. He walks to the bathroom and while she waits, snippets of the previous night randomly play behind her now closed eyes, an uneventful, quick dinner, rushing to the hotel barely exchanging any words and lastly, hours of catching up once they’re spent. Muscles ache as she twists and curls into herself, the sound of the running shower lost to the quiet of the room and her thoughts.

“Oh, hell no.” she later hears Edward sneer and meets his glare innocently, “You get out of bed right now.”

* * *

The trip to Xing proved to be… interesting for lack of a better term, Ed would say. Winry, on the other hand, finds it _grueling_.

Travelling to the eastern border of Amestris was next to nothing compared to what would follow. Edward remembered the time a member of the Han clan led the way to the ruins of Xerxes, which didn’t even amount to half way out of the desert. All life leaves you and you begin to feel oddly religious as you ride on, skin traumatized in the scorching heat. Ed thinks that if his automail touches the sand, it might light a fire and roast him plenty, more than Winry already did.

On her end however, she curses herself for ever agreeing to trust his orientation skills (“You’re sure you’ve been here before?” “ _Yes._ ” “And you’re sure we’re going the right way?” “Goddammit Winry, _shut up_.”) Surrounded by nothing but golden seas and throat dry down to her lungs, Winry winces. She tries to convince herself that at some point, they should come up on the ruins where they’re supposed to meet Xingese guides. Suddenly, she wonders if the landmark even exists, if the whole thing isn’t just a very elaborate illusion you encounter from heatstroke.

Eventually, thank whatever divine entity might be out there, dizzy and irritated, they reach the remnants of Xerxes. Edward notices mounted horses, tied to a broken pillar; Winry adds that there are people waiting for them, hiding in what little shade they could find. Closing the distance, they stop and climb down on the sand, only to be met by seemingly a man and a woman, both of their faces hidden behind a thin veil of cloth.

The two of them exchange loud, snarky comments before Winry turns to offer a polite greeting.

“I see you haven’t changed,” the woman replies, pulling the fabric down to her neck.

Ed’s eyes widen and he grins, “Lan Fan!” says Winry excitedly.

* * *

It’s a good ten minutes that Winry holds Alphonse in place, her arms wrapped tightly around his solid frame. He’s dressed in smooth, expensive-feeling, maroon silk from head to toe, chuckling effervescently and Ed can barely contain the pooling excitement inside, so in a very rare fit of striking sincerity, he sandwiches his fiancé between the two of them in a bone-crushing hug.

It’s small talk and unfunny jokes and comments about everyone – including and especially Mei Chang – and the ways they’ve changed. The palace is surrounded by flowers and greenery unknown to Ed, but vivid and beautiful nonetheless; the walls are perhaps thin and adorned at length with paintings and bizarre sculptures. Their steps and his mostly, echo on laminated, wooden floors. Winry keeps close to his brother, asking not one, but many questions. Eventually, they come to a hallway bridging into two paths.

“So,” Ed starts with a toothy grin, “Are we gonna see Ling now?”

Al halts, choking almost comically, “Looking like _that_?” beside him, Mei shakes her head dismissively, “ _We_ might not care about the gross state you’re in and as much as the _Emperor_ ,” she draws out the word with diluted animosity, “Would laugh about this for days, I have too much respect for you to let that happen.”

 _Wow_ , Ed thinks, _even her voice’s different_.

“Yeah?” he lifts a brow, arrogantly.

“Well, mostly for Winry,”

An unfamiliar man emerges from the corner and greets Mei in what he deems to be the weirdest exchange he’s ever seen and the girl excuses herself. Alphonse leads them onwards while explaining basic rules and the general layout of the palace…’s left wing. The more time Ed spends walking down spanking clean corridors, running low on adrenaline and with burnt skin itching all over (don't even get him started on his _leg_ ,) the less excitement he finds in being a royal guest. His brother stops before two large doors with gold handles and pink flowery designs painted masterfully on the surface.

Al clears his throat, “Actually, in Xing,” he speaks slowly, hinging on awkward, “It’s customary for people to sleep separately, regardless of gender or… _involvement_ ,” he tries a quick, sly look at Edward, “But Ling insisted that you two get this suite.”

The implications are not lost on him and he feels his face flare up, but at his side, Winry’s jaw drops.

“A _suite_?”

Alphonse laughs and pushes the doors open, revealing expertly made wooden furniture and shiny blue sheets spread neatly over a _very_ large, very inviting bed. The scarce sunlight of the late evening shines in through wide windows, painting warm hues around the main room.

“Now get yourselves cleaned up, do you remember where the baths are?”

Ed nods robotically, eyes fixated in pure awe.

“Dinner is going to be soon, someone will come get you,” and with that, Al leaves.

* * *

“This makes the Armstrong feasts look like afternoon tea,” Edward whistles.

Tables upon tables were joined together to form a seemingly endless surface full of plates too pretty to be considered edible and while Winry stands idly, unsure of how to proceed, his stomach grunts loudly. The same couple of servants that led the way guide each of them to opposing sides of the table, placing Ed and Winry next to Alphonse and Mei, respectively. Upon careful – and hopefully subtle – inspection, there are people neither of them has seen before, dressed in similar fashion (after a proper bath, there were clothes brought to their chambers; they quarreled back and forth simply because Ed did not want to wear ‘that shiny shit’, but eventually caved because the long, silver dress hugged Winry in all the right places and she made sure to promise _things_ if he, for once, behaved.)

Some of them share looks of interest, others of what feels like arrogant scrutiny; in any case, the very different language renders their discussions private. At this point and in this depleted state of mind, neither Ed nor Winry can actually find the energy to care. Mei, Winry notes to herself, talks a lot, almost as if to compensate; Al asks many questions about home, about life in Rush Valley, about Aerugo and Creta and Pinako and Den. _This is great_ , she thinks and Edward, too, beams.

Blunt sounds of metal hitting metal echo from outside and Lan Fan briefly explains that the ceremony is about to begin and not long after, a group of synchronized guards enter the room, swords and knives tucked to their sides. Following their entrance, four others make their way through carrying a large, open palanquin on which a man sits solemnly, a loose kimono with very detailed, sparkling embroidery laced over his shoulders and hair pulled into a bun on the top of his head.

Edward gags on his drink.

“Serio--” he lets out, ready for relentless mockery but Winry, visibly angry, kicks his flesh foot.

It’s like a scene out of a very dramatic, very poorly acted play, Ed snickers though Winry agrees, how the men lower Ling to the ground and he takes a stand, salutes the audience and places himself at the head of the table. He begins his speech in Xingese and on cue, all of the people present – Al included – bring their hands together and mutter something incomprehensible. Then, Ling smiles.

“It is my great honor to present to you our very special guests,” he enunciates the words clearly, “The infamous Fullmetal Alchemist – the name elicits a few curious stares and hushed whispers – Edward Elric,” he gestures to his right, “And his companion, Winry Rockbell, one of the most capable automail mechanics Amestris has ever seen.” He stretches his arm to his left.

At last, Ling seats himself and the feast commences.

“What a shitshow,” Ed adds, stifling laughter, his signature shit-eating grin playing at his lips, but Winry sighs.

“It’s called diplomacy, something you’re innately incapable of,” and she turns towards their friend with a shier smile, “But I have to admit, that was weird.”

* * *

The first few days spent in Xing aren’t so much uneventful as they’re just… transitional. It takes some getting used to for Winry, what with the jet lag she’s never experienced travelling all around her country and the bizarre, constant and absolutely suffocating presence of servants everywhere in the castle. She’s explained Mei a couple of times that she really did _not_ need any sort of assistance and the princess passed the message along, but to seemingly not much help. The entire situation really is just… _weird_.

Thankfully, they don’t dine in that awfully large room, with so many others of much higher social status anymore. Breakfast is quick and quiet, mostly because it’s usually just her and Ed waking up ‘late’ since they were still adjusting. The first day, Ling is nowhere to be seen and some woman supposedly related to Lan Fan sternly announces that the Young Master is incredibly busy and that they need to make an appointment if they wish to see him. Winry calls bullshit (and it’s not because Alphonse can barely keep a straight face hearing that) and it seems like Ed doesn’t believe it either, because he explores the palace at length and stumbles upon the Emperor-to-be munching cookies peacefully.

Initially, all of their exchanges are exciting and benign, or at least they start off that way; they evolve into more volatile retellings of past experiences and funny stories that end with loud, empty insults and endless teasing. Ed buts heads with everyone and Ling especially manages to get a rise out of her fiancé, specifically using their relationship to do so. Al trails off, eyes glimmering, about all that he’s learned and all that he’s seen and witnessed during the previous year. He talks about Jerso and Zampano, whom are investigating somewhere to the north of Xing and would soon return. Winry listens and watches intently, the scenery before her eyes and around her all new and different; she watches innocent, lingering touches between Alphonse and Mei, more prominent when they think no one’s watching. Winry knows Ed probably isn’t, but wouldn’t be surprised by the idea. It fills her with a sisterly sort of glee, but it also feels like looking into an old, discarded mirror – blushing cheeks on golden skin and intense, unsure golden eyes. Not that her own Elric changed much over time. Maybe she’ll ask, Winry thinks, the princess about it, strategically. Or maybe she’ll throw jabs at Al like they used to, years before. Or, she’ll just keep watching.

Her suitcase remains untouched (“Nonsense,” Ling replied when Ed argued about the new spare of clothes brought to their suite every single morning, “How _do_ you move in this shit,” Winry didn’t particularly mind.) She sits on a balcony with Mei, soon after dinner and fans her damp neck. The princess offers to do her hair and molds it into a neat bun with little effort; when she pulls back, her dress rises up her leg and through the slit a simple, leather pooch catches her attention. It’s tied tightly to her skin and Winry can only assume it contains weapons (if she remembered correctly, knives were Mei’s specialty.) They chat about nothings and eventually dabble into the subject of boys and she can feel that there’s something hanging between the two of them.

“Have you two talked about it?” Winry leans back, bringing the fan to her face. It was just so _hot_. “The… wedding, I mean,”

“Not really,” she tilts her head, “Not seriously, at least.”

“But you’re going back together, right? To Rush Valley?”

That would be nice. A bit complicated at first, but decidedly nice; maybe he could find work there or -- well, he didn’t really have to. Winry had her business, Ed still had some of his old research funds in the bank. It may be all about automail in Rush Valley, but he could find things to do, right? The Curtis’ were a lot closer that way, too. To say she was worried was more of an overstatement because this was Edward, the poster child for ‘just do it’ campaigns and he’s always supported – in his tasteless, unnerving ways – her passion. It was just one other thing taking space in her mind, one other late night talk to have when she nuzzles close to him.

“Maybe,”

They don’t say anything for a while, enjoying the quiet of the moment under stars that begin to light the darkening sky. Voices echo vaguely from afar, the boys must be on the terrace, having a drink too. Winry likes this calm, this lack of urgency, for once. Maybe not for long, but she’ll enjoy it for a bit, until they find new ways to stir each other and pile up tasks.

“But you know, you _have_ to come. Like, that goes without saying,” she eventually turns to Mei, “And you’re going to be my bridesmaid,”

The princess’ lips part slightly and she doesn’t blink, until the old, familiar and overbearing emotion twists her features and she smiles almost tearfully before inching closer to Winry. She hugs her.

“Of course!”

Their third day in, Ling is showing them the gardens. Winry trails along blossoming trees, each more beautiful than the last, but glares emptily at Ed any time he makes faces between flowers. He may not look it, but she thinks the _Emperor_ must be fed up with them at this point. Winry slaps Edward’s arm when he tries to tickle her from behind.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat, “Thanks for taking a look at Lan Fan’s arm,”

“It’s nothing,” she smiles, “But it needs some serious tuning. Maybe a different alloy, I saw her struggling with her fingers earlier today,”

Ling sits himself on a rock, hiding in the scarce shadow. He may not dress the same, but the picture rings on déjà vu – the man looked exactly the same, years prior, when he made clear his intent to acquire immortality.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you one more thing,” he licks his lips, “Automail is basically nonexistent here. And for a nation as big as Xing,” he laughs, “We could really use that,”

“You sound just like someone else I know,” Ed cuts in with a chuckle, but Winry almost feels him shiver.

“I know it’s not _ideal_ ,” Ling continues, his eyes on Edward, “But it’s saved lives before. For the most part.”

Winry can feel fingers lace between hers, “Yeah,” he nods, softly, like it’s her he’s speaking to.

“So, there are people who want to learn of this -- _gospel_ , if you will. Medics and engineers and the like,” his eyes now meet Winry’s, “Would you be willing to teach them?”

* * *

“So, did you decide on a date?”

Edward opens another notebook to compare to his sketch of a transmutation circle. He draws quietly on the paper, eyes squinted in focus. Alphonse jabs his arm.

“What?”

“The wedding,” Al adds suggestively.

He stops in his tracks and rolls his eyes with copious annoyance, “ _No_ , Al.”

Ling muses, “You know, you could always have it here.”

“Oh c’mon,” Ed barks, “Not you too.”

“It would better the relationship between our countries if you did,”

He snaps, throwing his hands in the air, cheeks flushed like crazy.

“Just leave it the hell alone, we haven’t talked about it. I haven’t even given her the ring!”

The others fall silent, both of his companions watching him wide-eyed in between shared looks of confusion. The prince scratches the back of his head, while his brother only blinks in shock.

“What do you mean you _haven’t_ given her the _ring_?”

Ling almost cackles, “But I thought that was literally the tradition?”

Ed falls back into his chair, cheeks burning intensely; Al only shakes his head.

“Are you actually engaged, then?” he gestures wildly, “Brother, this is embarrassing even for your standards!”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean? She said yes!”

“Yes to _what_? How _exactly_ did you propose?”

The older brother hesitates in response, but the prince leans in, “Does Winry even know what she has agreed to?” to which Edward slams his hands on the table.

“I’m going to beat the shit out of both of you fuckers--”

Completely in sync and without missing a beat, the guards draw their swords, staring him down sternly.

“Oh, for the love of God,” Ed hisses.

Ling shakes his hand dismissively, “It’s not their fault every time you speak to me it sounds like you’re making an attempt on my life, Ed.”

“I damn well should, at this point,”

Alphonse sighs, his face straight with exasperation. Had the topic of discussion been different, Edward would’ve found his brother’s outrage endearing almost, given how long they’d been apart.

“Please tell me you at least _have_ a ring.”

He nods.

* * *

For as fun as a new challenge is, Winry finds it increasingly hard to teach her way when not every one of her eager students is fluent in Amestrian and whatnot. Sometimes, she can tell, they don’t quite understand what she’s saying and so she repeats the names of the tools as she’s using them. Mostly, they follow her motions and after something akin to sign language, Winry manages to correct them if needed.

Occasionally, Lan Fan joins in – more like watches intently from the shadows and Winry knows she’s just trying to acquire enough knowledge to be able to take care of her arm herself, if possible. Stealing glances at her between demonstrations, she thinks of Ed; if he cared half as much as Lan Fan did about automail, he wouldn’t need her for maintenance. Though, Winry knows that as similar as these two are in some ways, circumstances don’t quite apply. Not when Edward’s only goal in life was to restore his brother’s body and she was a mechanic first and an emotional support second. Not when Lan Fan wakes up every day looking to efficiently serve her soon-to-be Emperor whom can’t exactly afford to go around doing what he wants because hundreds of thousands of people depend on him. Winry knows as much, but. ‘But’ is exactly what she thinks when she sees Ling stalk around the premises the day before his coronation.

“Can I help you, _Your Majesty_?” asks Winry.

He laughs, “No need to call me that,” He trails closer to her, eyes on the piece she’s twisting around.

“Well, it’s more to get used to the idea, you know. Kind of hard to marry a goofy foreign boy with a king wearing more gold than I could ever buy,”

“I guess there’s that,” he nods towards her hands, “How’s it coming along?”

“I still have to check the wiring, but otherwise pretty well. I’ll get it done in time,”

Ling smiles, a rather simple, sincere smile he’s not exactly known for. His fingers glide on the reflective steel, he grips and feels the weight of the arm.

“Thank you for this.”

She giggles, “My pleasure. But it’s not going to be cheap, _Your Majesty_.”

He, too, laughs and bows comically, “If that’s how it is, then what do you say, Winry? Become my concubine and I’ll give you the finest materials in the whole wide world?”

“How preposterous,” Winry gasps. Ling settles against the wall, eyes rather soft. She doesn’t know how she knows, but there are things Ling doesn’t say, or can’t say, that she can almost piece together. Maybe it’s years of practice with her own emotionally stunted man, to understand without being told and maybe it’s – definitely – not her business, but.

“Actually, what’s going to happen, you know, after that?”

“What do you mean?”

She returns to the metal arm she was working on prior, “Well, I imagine you can’t exactly rule by yourself,”

For a few moments, Ling doesn’t say anything in return. For a few moments, Winry wonders if – or rather, by how much she’s overstepped. Still, he exhales, a drawn out sigh and smiles one final time. He turns on his heels to leave.

“It’s a bit complicated,”

* * *

And Ed thought he’d seen it all. He’d witnessed pompous, flowery and _freaking tone-deaf_ parades held in honor of random foreign princes visiting. He’d attended an Armstrong ball held in Armstrong fashion. Hell, their arrival in Xing was pretentious as all hell, but this? This was pure lunacy. They had literal orchestras playing in perfect harmony, moderately overridden by the incessant _screams_ and _whistles_ of what felt like the entire Xingese nation (but Ed guessed it wasn’t even a tenth of the actual population.)

The already immaculate corridors of the palace were drowning in flowers, bouquets, vases, decorative trees. The servants looked the part; soldiers and whatnot were marching about in shiny, colorful outfits he’d barely escaped. The women walked in stiff-looking wooden shoes, clad in thick, heavy kimonos – beautifully made nonetheless – that he mocked for a solid ten minutes to a silent Al (“Imagine wearing _that_ in this weather,”) until Mei emerged with Winry in tow, their arms linked to support his fiancé in her wobbled steps. The fans they had were admittedly cool, but not so much when Winry smacked him with it; Ed doesn’t stop the comments about the ridiculous attire, only because for once, she can’t move well enough to have her way with him (he’s _glowing_.)

They take their honorary seats on the premise and wait for the show to start. Edward knows any minute now Ling’s going to walk out on the balcony, wave dramatically at the audience and eventually climb down. It’s all a weird mixture of feelings fighting for attention – the absolute ridiculousness of the situation and the fact that _he_ is sitting closer to the soon-to-be Emperor than senators, princes and princesses, together with an alchemist and an automail mechanic. The annoyance the deafening crowd causes him, the restlessness he feels when standing in place for too long. The strange, totally ignored and unaddressed _pride_ ; the shitface, stroke-inducing bastard, greedy as nothing else, Ling Yao was going to be crowned ruler of Xing. And Ed is happy, for a change. Not that he’d tell him that.

It doesn’t last long because where before was joy, Edward now cannot contain laughter. He tells Winry that Ling is dressed like a peacock and that Lord help him, someone needs to photograph that _hair_. He could hold that over him for years. Winry shushes him and he notes that she’s weirdly – or maybe not so much – invested in the ceremony.

The prince kneels, his long, long cape following onto the ground and he bows his head, possibly for the first and last time Edward has ever seen and will ever see him do it. The crown looks more like a certainly heavy, stupidly shaped chunk of gold with gemstones on top. Ling accepts its weight fully and stands straight (Ed doesn’t have a lot to enjoy other than that because he can’t understand shit. Al seems to be on a somewhat different page.) The now Emperor takes a few steady steps, slow and almost calculated, salutes and speaks. Again, it’s all background noise, but like few, memorable moments in his life, Ed feels like it’s both been coming a long while and something he never counted on witnessing.

* * *

“Ed,” he hears her whisper into his hair, “Are you awake?”

He turns on his back, searching for her face and Winry promptly positions herself onto his chest. The way she’s so comfortable with his presence and so deliberate in her touch still manages to render him speechless and trigger emotions so specific.

“Done for the day?”

“Yes, thank _God_. I didn’t think this would take up so much time,” she huffs.

Edward shifts, his free hand treading through her tied hair and softly removes the elastic holding it in place. He touches thick liquid, most likely a mixture of oil and sweat.

“It’s so weird how they don’t know anything about automail,”

“Tell me about it,” Winry yawns, “I wanted to shower, but just couldn’t,”

He chuckles; Ed hasn’t seen her the entire day, save for a few sneaky looks at her teaching aspiring mechanics in the palace gardens. She seemed so focused and weirdly patient that he didn’t feel like ruining their impression of her with his inflammatory meddling. All in due time until she throws a wrench at another disrespectful brat.

“Say, Ed,” she pauses and he can almost see her bite her lip, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,”

Winry chuckles, “Too late. I was thinking about what’s going to happen when, you know, we return from Xing.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, I’m working in Rush Valley now. Where are you going next?”

Edward blinks, ponders; he didn’t have any other expeditions planned for the foreseeable future, not really and even if he did, the Rockbell house wasn’t much of a home anymore, not without her there. Strangely, he feels nervous almost and the weight of the ring in his suitcase presses onto him again. He clears his throat.

“I guess I’m coming with you, gearhead.”

Winry peers up at him, “Really?”

He doesn’t answer and instead, summons all of the courage he can find in himself to sit up on the bed. Hidden under a bulk of papers, his fingers close around the velvet box he’s twisted and turned countless times in his hand before and passes it over.

“What’s this?” her thumb travels the length of the object, pulling it open. There’s not much light in the room to watch the shift in her face, only what candles and torches can offer and the palace is otherwise quiet when a gasp escapes her lips, eyes open wide. She smiles, giddy noises escaping her lips and takes out the ring, feeling it around.

“You got this for me?”

Edward nods awkwardly, “Well. You needed one, didn’t you?”

Smoothly, she slides it on, “So, you’ll stay with me in Rush Valley then?”

“Yeah,”

Winry’s hand reaches for his shoulder and gently falls down his arm, inviting him back. He bends forward to kiss her.

“Just so you know, I don’t have a place.” He frowns, “I mean, I’ve been living in Garfiel’s apartment all this time.”

Ed thinks, the corners of his mouth tilting slightly, “We’ll take care of that, can’t be that expensive.”

Her arms snake around his neck, drawing him closer. This time she kisses him soundly, making use of their hands until they’re both fighting for air, but in need of so much more.

“How about a bath?” Winry whispers, breath hot against his ear.

Oh _no_.

“People could come in, Win,” he tries halfheartedly and so uncharacteristically.

Then she pecks him quickly, “I’m pretty sure no one will want to.”

He’s sold.

* * *

Ling marks their last day in Xing with a great feast very much alike when the two of them first arrived. This time however, he announces Alphonse’s departure as well as his sister’s. The two would be heading east to further their research (Ed tells Winry one night that Al’s alchemy is a bit different now, that he can somewhat use long-range transmutations without Mei’s help and she replies, suggestively, that his brother is now well-versed in the anatomy of the human body, too. Ed doesn’t know exactly what to make of it, but she laughs musingly.)

This time, part of the royal family that does speak Amestrian offers their regards; some of them weren’t as stuck up as Edward and Winry initially thought and one of the princesses actually studied automail engineering during their stay. Others were interested in alchemy and Ed found that they were close with his brother.

Edward begins to promptly stuff his face as per usual and Winry warns that it might not be such a good idea with their departure in roughly twelve hours. He doesn’t listen.

Later, they decide to postpone sleeping and relocate with the rest of the group to the gardens. Soon after, Ling joins them stealthily, free from any guards (except Lan Fan, who was much more than that.) They pour glasses of Xingese drinks, chugging them down one after the other (another bad idea Winry comments on, but that goes along with without much resistance.) They laugh audibly, organically and play weird board games that Ling and Mei only half-translate until they switch to a simple, straightforward Truth or Dare.

Ling eyes his sister – a strange relationship neither Ed nor Winry ever really understood – cunningly, “You had a thing for Ed, truth or lie?”

Mei chokes on her drink, much like Edward, who splutters all over. She flusters, fingers gripping the glass tightly, but her gaze settles ferociously in Alphonse's direction.

“For _three seconds_!”

Winry flaunts her hand, almost as if to fan herself, “Don’t worry, Mei,” she giggles, “They _all_ do that. Until they actually meet him,”

Ed jabs her, glaring through half-lidded eyes and cheeks hot, “What is that supposed to mean,”

“ _Spare_ me, Ed. We’ve all heard the stories. You’re especially popular around Rush Valley,” she smirks and leans back into her chair, “Until you send them running with your mouth. Or your fist. Whichever comes first,”

He pouts, “You’re just saying that because you’re jealous,”

The girls break into giggles, but Alphonse especially seems amused. He pats his brother’s shoulder, verging on solidly wasted himself.

“ _Jealous_?” Al huffs, “You haven’t told him about John, Win?”

Winry stops, her lips parted and she shies from the table, but Ed slams his empty glass with piqued, flaming interest, “ _Who_?”

She rolls her eyes, “It was nothing,” and she kicks Alphonse’s foot under the table, who winces soundly, but it only eggs him further.

“Nothing as in he stalked you for months,”

Ling leans forward, brow quirked, “My, _Winry_ ,”

“Hold up,” Edward barks, “When did this happen? Why didn’t I hear of this? Why do _you_ – he finger-stabs his traitorous brother – know?”

But Winry only sighs, sipping on her drink again, “I told him to get lost. I was on the phone with Al the last time he came by the shop,”

“Okay,” Mei chimes in, “My turn. Edward, truth or dare?”

He crosses his arms, eyes still burning with drunken jealousy and ego slightly wounded, “Dare.”

The princess smiles devilishly.

* * *

Hours later, Winry’s waiting for Edward to return from the toilet seat she left him doubled over.

“That was awful,” Ed hisses, dropping down onto the sofa. His hands cover his face, rubbing the skin; Winry sighs, trying to will her headache into submission.

“There, there,” she draws closer, massages his shoulder, “At least you got it out of your system.”

“I thought I was going to _die_ ,”

“Ed,” she rolls her eyes, “You’re being way too dramatic.”

His hands drop onto his knees, before he flaunts them around exaggeratedly, feigning disappointment, a look of betrayal on his face. It’s times like this that Winry wonders why exactly she’s fallen so deeply in love with such an obnoxious buffoon. This stupid, one-track-mind type of guy who never listens and always rises to the challenge. In hindsight, maybe his hanging upside down (“Brother, _no_ ,”) until the this-isn’t-going-so-well-anymore was basically palpable on his face wasn’t so bad. Mei and Winry got a great laugh out of that, didn’t they?

“And you’re not being dramatic enough! Don’t you remember Ishbal?”

She cackles, he glares, “Do you seriously believe _Mustang_ would go to war over _your_ death?”

“Well-- true. But you never know. Hawkeye might.”

“Not unless she’s invited to the wedding,”

Edward peers up at her again, eyes squinted accusingly, “Did we agree on that?” but Winry raises one hand to her lips, mouth agape in mock regret.

“My bad.”

“ _Winry_.”

“Yes, _Ed_?”

His brows furrow so tightly together, she fears they might dig holes into his bones; he stands, face still pale from his unstable state.

“Does Mustang know we’re getting married?”

“Most likely.”

Edward pinches the bridge of his nose, “Fucking fantastic.”

* * *

They set off, but this time, there would be no scorching desert to cross. Winry brought it up before and Ed agreed distractedly – it might add a few days to their journey, but it would also ensure more sights to see, more cities to visit in Xing and the opportunity to show the elegant beauty of Aerugo to Winry. Even if he’s still vomiting his guts out (“I got freaking food poisoning, you _dick_ ,” “Yes, Ed, because this has nothing to do with your intolerance to alcohol.”)

Ling is strongly advised not to see his guests off at the train station so, naturally, he manages to steer the guards away just enough; Lan Fan also helps, ‘begrudgingly’ (Winry doesn’t buy her makeshift aversion.) There, they part. Once more, Edward goes west, while Alphonse heads farther east. The latter is the first to board and leave, waving brightly while Mei almost hangs out the window – after bear hugs spread left and right by Winry, of course. The princess also whispers conspiratorially in her ear and she smirks, knowingly and replies in kind, rendering Ed curious and mildly scared at the same time – and soon they follow. The _Emperor_ bows with respect and courtesy, kissing Winry’s hand and she giggles fondly (it’s embarrassing, but she knows she’ll miss those shenanigans.)

“Until next time,” Ling offers, meeting Edward’s eyes. He sticks out his hand and, grinning, he shakes it. Like equals. Like brothers, almost – _nah,_ Ed thinks, _we’d kill each other if that was the case_.

Later, Winry leans against the window and fiddles with his fingers absently; he pulls out some of his notes when she speaks.

“How long until we have to switch?”

Ed checks his watch, “Five hours,”

She shifts, stretching her legs and shoots him a purposeful smile.

“Now,” she locks her hand around his, “about the _wedding_ ,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello  
> i am late and what even is characterization  
> this one's a bit more lighthearted (:


	4. Burn

Winry decides, bent over a toilet seat and her hands shaky on its sides that Ed was right, shockingly. Her head covered in its entirety by stiff, uncomfortable curlers and her throat sore, she drops down on the floor.

She’s only wearing her corset, has probably chipped her nails _already_ and the noises outside have become too noticeable to just tune out anymore. _How did this happen_ , she thinks and kicks her foot into the overflowing laundry basket, almost tipping it over. This isn’t the time to mope, Winry knows, but it’s been building up inside her, this weird, reactive stress and this sensitivity that make her bite back hot tears.

“…right back, Al,” words come in from the hallway, inching closer and her heart clenches, drowning to the pit of her stomach when Ed pushes the door open.

He stops in his tracks, “Shit, I didn’t know you were here –” and offers a surprised look. Then a questioning one. Then a concerned one and Winry _loses_ it.

She starts bawling her eyes out.

* * *

The facts of the case are as follows – the date was essentially a no-brainer. By the time they were on deck, sailing throughout Aerugo, they had already decided on the 8th of September; a Saturday, at the onset of fall. The right mix of cooling breeze and warm nights. A good few months to go until then, which was perfect.

The plan was to return to Rush Valley and start apartment hunting. A house, sure, was the better option. It was also the more expensive one, bordering on _too_ expensive. They wrote it off (for the moment.) Winry had her things to collect from Garfiel’s place, their new home would still have to be close enough to the atelier and point blank, there were many things to consider. Safety, wiring, pipe systems, neighbors, overall just a _lot_.

So, they came to the mutual agreement of a small wedding. A celebration between those closest to them because their day wasn’t going to be anything but that.

“Ten guests tops,” said Ed one rainy morning, towel-drying his hair. He’d only just finished hauling boxes up the stairs in the one-bedroom flat they had picked, on the third floor of a building five minutes away from the shop. Garfiel himself helped find the spot.

Winry wasn’t paying much attention, her eyes fixated on a sketchpad and the blueprint she was consulting. She lifted her fingers distractedly and began counting.

“Granny, Al and Mei,” he nodded, “The Curtis’,” she paused, thinking. “Paninya and Garfiel,”

So far so good, Edward mused.

“Mustang and Riza, that makes nine.”

He clicked his tongue, but not entirely opposed to the idea, “Do we have to?” Winry shot him her best no-nonsense glare and he dropped the subject.

With such a scarce guest list, they could have the wedding uphill, outside the Rockbell house. Obviously, Resembool was non-negotiable due to Pinako’s age and deteriorating health – and Winry worries often – so, given the time frame, they could leave a few weeks in advance, get business in order and put together a nice setting. A couple of tables, some flowers and a radio, a pickup maybe. Home cooking. A solid plan.

…Or not. Rush Valley got really hot during summertime and Winry preferred showering in the evening, after hours of endless work. Of course, Ed nagged constantly that her definition of ‘evening’ was basically midnight, but she never listened either way. Her fingers brushing through long, tangled locks, something came to mind.

“Ed,” she started, scantily wrapped in a towel (and he pulled her closer towards the bed.)

“Mhm?”

“The Hughes’. Gracia and Elicia,” he looked up at her, “We have to invite them too,”

Normally, Edward would have argued, even if just for the sake of it; he didn’t. What’s two more people, anyway?

* * *

The pieces begin to crumble soon after. Winry asks Paninya to be her maid of honor and gets literally swooped into a bone-crushing, erratic hug. They’ve had this conversation before, she knows, but it’s Paninya (who also missed work to help Edward with the moving, despite his numerous and loud protests, when Winry had to take care of a client dealing with post-surgical rejection.) Garfiel says he could just about cry, but his mascara isn’t waterproof so he’ll save the tears for the actual ceremony.

All’s well until she makes it ‘home’ – still feels weird to say or think – surprisingly early and in desperate need of sugar and cuddles and quiet. She finds Ed organizing their books and notes in their new bookshelf and he looks _crestfallen_.

“Hey,” she greets tentatively, taking her shoes off, “What’s wrong?”

He sighs, “You know I said I’d call Mustang today?”

Winry tiptoes closer, traps him by the waist and watches the sunset play in his similarly colored irises, “Yeah, and?”

“ _And_ I thought the bastard was acting weird. Like… weirdly pacifistic. Didn’t even make out-of-your-league jokes and said he’d be honored. _Honored_ , Win,” he trails off and she frowns, “And then he passes the phone over to Hawkeye. She seems happy and all that.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“So, an hour later, I get a call back. Who do you think it is?”

She rolls her eyes, “Mustang?”

“…’s team. Havoc and Breda and Falman and Fuery even, somewhere in the back. Havoc tears me a new one about how it’s rude that they weren’t invited after everything they’ve done and how he could use a night out dancing – oh, did you know he can even jump now? – and Breda comes in saying that he even escorted me to the Xerxes ruins back in the day,”

Winry listens intently and thinks that Edward doesn’t sound half as pissed as he pretends to be; her arms tighten around him and he pushes the overgrown fringe behind her ears.

“And he didn’t even _do_ anything, he only ever _eats_. But then Falman goes off about -- well, basically the asshole I was back at Briggs _years_ ago and stuff like that. Meanwhile, Fuery’s in the back trying to get them off me,”

“What did you say?” her tone’s light, playful even. He bends over to give her a quick kiss and she knows just how this will end.

Ed looks conflicted, pouty almost, “Well, I was kind of cornered there,”

Winry laughs into his chest, “What can you do,”

* * *

_Fifteen people_ , Edward ponders, _not including us_.

“It’s not that bad,” he tells himself, checking a scrap of paper and strolling idly around the market. The word ‘milk’ is underlined on the list and he skips it entirely.

He only puts two and two together when an immaculate, white envelope comes in the mail later that week. It bears a familiar crest in the shape of a cleanly outlined rose, embedded in crimson wax and he stomps in on Winry cooking before he even attempts a read-through. She turns momentarily and he bursts.

“Fucking Mustang,” he lifts the letter, “Do you know what this is?”

Winry exhales, unbothered, “I’m sure you’re going to tell me,”

“ _This_ ,” he points to the crest, “Is part of the Armstrong legacy, passed down through generations or some shit like that,” Ed grunts exasperatedly, “And if _he_ knows, it’s safe to say all of Amestris will.”

To his dismay – and perpetually flaming temper – Winry scoffs and resumes her cooking with little effort.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“And you’ve met the Major,” he points his index finger at her, as if to bet, “You’ll see.”

When she has the audacity to laugh back at him and the evolving shitshow their wedding was shaping out to be, he snarls and throws flour her way. Winry gasps in shock, mouth hanging open, eyes dark and feisty. They don’t clean up until hours later.

* * *

Alex Louis Armstrong. Maria Ross and Denny Brosh. Darius and Heinkel. The LeCoulte’s. Within little over a week and barely two months left until the actual event, the guest list doubled at least. Winry can’t seem to focus properly; she couldn’t exactly blame it entirely on Ed, not when it was equally as hard for her to refuse all of those eager to celebrate their union. There were many who cared about Edward’s welfare and she was grateful for that, but thank the heavens she wasn’t half as close with the majority of her clients.

The thing is, their plan was in shreds and there wasn’t much time left. Where would they even fit all of the people? Winry drops her head onto the desk; they could be wed in the chapel her parents were, but between her and Ed there was little to no interest in religion (his verging on straight up aversion.) A friend’s barn – _who are you kidding_ , soldiers of high ranking and literal heirlooms manifested their interest in the celebration. Winry didn’t even _know_ all of them and it still weighed interminably on her mind. Small, sequestered Resembool barely had a Town Hall and a train station to its name.

 _Desperate times call for desperate measures_ , she tells herself as she picks up the receiver and asks for a link to Central. It was late, maybe she wouldn’t pick up, but it’s all Winry can do to hope that she does.

“Hello?” Riza Hawkeye’s voice echoes in her ear, albeit a bit distorted. Reception was never good in Rush Valley anyway.

“Hello,” she coughs, “This is Winry,” silence on the other end, “Is this a bad time?”

“No,” the woman replies softly, “Is everything alright?”

She pushes back into her chair, bringing her feet up, “Yeah, I’m actually supposed to be working,” she pauses.

“Winry?”

“…But I was hoping you could help me,”

* * *

“Remind me why I agreed to this,” Edward hisses in the backseat of Mustang’s car, Winry sitting closely and browsing through a catalogue.

One month and a half left at best, they leave on a weekend trip to Central. Winry presented the idea enthusiastically and she’d made some decent points – Ed needs a suit, she a dress and Rush Valley isn’t exactly the place to look; they could order the cake, decide on flower arrangements and the like – but none of those included having to babysit Mustang while she went off taking care of everything with Hawkeye.

“We’re almost there,” she scoffs, “Can you stop whining already?”

The car takes a turn to the right, “I’ll have you know you’re keeping me from very important work,” says Roy, loosening his tie.

“You _work_?”

He can see a smile tugging at Riza’s lips, “Very funny, Fullmetal. Some of us have actual jobs.”

Edward rolls his eyes and leans back into the window. Central was chaotic and impossibly sunny, things he wasn’t really excited about, right in the middle of summer. Mustang parks on the boulevard and Winry scoots away.

“Why can’t I come,”

“Because,” Riza starts as she unfastens her seatbelt and opens the door on her side habitually, “You’re not allowed to see the dress.” Winry smiles approvingly.

It was strange and potentially terrifying, how easily these two had hit it off back in the day. It felt like the coming together of two very unlikely individuals to form a friendship that was basically a perpetual offence to his existence. Between his psychotic, _sadistic_ fiancé and the quiet, stern terror of Hawkeye, he was an easily abused target. That being said, they weren’t half as bad as Roy Mustang, all by himself.

“Now,” the man begins conversationally, but Ed only offers a dry laugh.

“You’re actually stupid if you think I’m taking you shopping,”

Roy whirls in his seat, facing him, “One of these days you’re going to have to learn how to speak to me properly.”

“And you’re going to have to stop calling me Fullmetal,” Edward shrugs, “You’re not my superior anymore and besides,” Ed cannot contain himself, “There’re rumors going around Rush Valley that the Fuhrer position might be made elective.”

Mustang doesn’t reply and only rests his head against the steering wheel. The silence is almost companionable, Ed thinks. “Have you decided on the venue yet?”

“No venue. We’re having it outside,” Edward watches as the man straightens himself, eyes finding his in the rearview mirror.

“Where?”

It’s kind of hard for him to explain, because a week prior, even Ed wouldn’t have seen it coming. It was his idea, a late night thought that evolved into something resembling a plan. A weird and unsettling one still, but the way Winry looked at him when he suggested the field where their house once was, he knew it couldn’t be completely wrong.

* * *

The night before Alphonse’s much anticipated return to Resembool and ten days left until the big event, Winry wakes up to the dark and quiet of her room and an empty bed. She finds Ed sitting on the door step of the house, hair ruffled, surveying the hills distantly. He’s either restless, she suspects, or has had another nightmare (few and far between lately and she couldn’t be happier) or both. If horrendous ghosts of the past haunt his mind, Winry will hold him tight (it’s all she can do to ease the conflict of his conscience) but sometimes. Sometimes he leaves for an indefinite amount of time and she wonders if it’s her – jarring caricatures of her – that he’s dreamt about. Winry knows, more than he gives her credit, the extent of his perpetual self-loathing; she likes to think it’s under control and it probably is, but all battle scars wound _sometimes_ and she also knows firsthand what it’s like to cry out for those long gone in your sleep.

She doesn’t join him, not at first, only stands by his side. Edward is aware of her presence, she’s sure; after a while, he tilts his head so that he can see her face and that’s when she sits. Eventually, he wraps a lazy arm around her shoulders. It’s a clear sky.

“Do you think,” he whispers shyly and takes time to articulate, “A house. Can you see a house there?”

At first, Winry’s completely clueless as to what he might mean, until it all makes so much sense she’s surprised she didn’t piece it together immediately.

“Built from scratch?”

He sighs, “ _Obviously_ ,”

She’d lie if she said the possibility didn’t cross her mind. It just wasn’t something she’d expect Edward to suggest, or be comfortable with. He doesn’t seem, fully, but maybe she hasn’t given him enough credit.

“Well, the place is still yours, technically,” she offers, “Do you want a house there, Ed?”

She watches his expression intently, as much as she can make out; he’s smiling, kind of, but stiffens next to her.

“Not. Not _now_ ,” Edward stammers back.

 _It’s not like Rush Valley was the endgame anyway_ , she thinks and indulges in this sudden, sketch of a potential future. A garden filled with color, a living room and a cozy fireplace, a wide, brightly lit kitchen with an equally wide dinner table. Kids running around – family. The place where Ed and Al lost everything, the spot where they would share everything and later down the line, their _house_. Winry doesn’t know a lot about alchemy, but it feels like they’re drawing a circle.

* * *

Edward's reading the instructions for the wedding arch at lunch – another one of Mustang’s _brilliant_ contributions to this mess – fuming and frowning profusely when he hears a multitude of voices, one of which he distantly recognizes to be Alphonse’s. He trails to the front door, roused plenty, only to find his brother, Winry and six additional people that he didn’t account for.

“What.” He scoffs, blinks, “ _Why_.”

Out of the group, Mei Chang doesn’t pay him any attention, chattering happily with Winry (who looks either put off or tired, Ed can’t decide), while Ling Yao salutes unbothered; next to him, Lan Fan offers a smile, but the three men at Ling’s side – that he doesn’t remember ever seeing – place one hand on the swords hanging from their sides and bow stoically.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,”

Ling grins, a very triggering sight to Edward’s already fickle temper. “There you are,”

Ed doesn't comment on it and instead stomps his way down the stairs angrily, compelled to punch _at least_ one of those guards into next week, but stops in front of his brother who turns towards him with a smile so aloof.

“Brother,”

“Don’t ‘brother’ me,” he barks back, “Care to explain what’s going on?”

Edward can see Winry exhale out the corner of his eye, a look of pure resignation on her pretty face. Al tilts his head, ever so innocent still.

“The more the merrier?” he laughs.

Ed rubs his face and draws out a sigh, “You might as well just bring all of Xing to this sorry excuse of…whatever.”

“That can be arranged,” Ling adds, closing in on the two of them.

“Oh, fuck off,” He glares before stepping back, “At least help, you freeloading asshole.”

“Charming as always,”

As much as using colorful language while addressing the _Emperor of Xing_ must be a total cultural shock to Ling’s bodyguards, Ed couldn’t care less. Every other day letters arrived in the mail and people called the Rockbell residence inquiring about the time and location of their union like it was any of their business and sometimes – much to Winry’s reluctant protests – he told them right off, but mostly he couldn’t. Whenever Pinako got a good laugh at his expense, he retorted something along the lines of ‘Yeah? I wanna see you refuse the Northern Wall of Briggs’ (whom Edward was completely and utterly _bewildered_ to hear was going to be present. He still doesn’t know why and isn’t going to risk his life finding out.)

However, some people were sensible enough to just send in a congratulatory telegram, like the people of Liore – Rose Thomas signed the sweet letter that Winry seemed oddly excited about (“Remind me how you two know each other?” “From a hole in the ground,” said Winry, rolling her eyes.) Same goes for the miners of Youswell and several Central and Eastern District officers that had the (dis)pleasure of working with him during his military assignments back in the day. Both Dr. Marcoh and Dr. Knox made sure to each drop one too.

Either way, Ed has long since lost count. Somewhere deep inside, he’s overwhelmed by a strange humility, gratefulness even, that these people are willing to give him (and Winry) the time of day on this special occasion, but that part of him is fantastically outshined by the constant annoyance of grueling preparations and the whole idea of their wedding turning into a show. The lot still missed a few chairs, they’d have to get a couple more tables and the flowers, the freaking _flowers_. Edward had never before felt this sort of vivid animosity towards Riza Hawkeye – the damn woman and her damn roses and Mustang’s astronomically stupid _arch_ – but he (partially) put it aside because Winry’s eyes glimmered whenever she looked at the arrangements.

Thankfully, the newcomers are a lot more help than he expected. Ling might not do much outside of eating – and driving Ed off the edge at every chance – but his men get work done. Lan Fan offers to help haul around materials, but Winry asks for her assistance with the cooking. Edward barely sees her three days in a row and is promptly escorted out of the kitchen every time he tries to. He’s furious beyond belief, mentally exhausted every moment of every day when Roy Mustang drives the final nail in the coffin. Thirty hours before the wedding, the Elric brothers pick the man and his team up from the train station and luckily, they gush about Alphonse and his Xingese adventures the entire way back for a change. The same day, Paninya, Garfiel and the Curtis’ arrive and the house is overflowing. When Edward asks about their accommodation, Pinako cackles.

“Don’t worry, you’re not sleeping here,” says the woman, smoking her pipe, “And neither are most of ‘em.”

Ed goes _livid_ , “What’s that supposed to mean?” but a soft hand snakes its way to his shoulder and he turns to face his teacher.

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,”

He scoffs, “That’s bullshit,” but both Winry and Izumi glower simultaneously; he gives in half-heartedly, “ _Fine_. Where am I supposed to sleep, then?”

Roy Mustang stands up from the couch, looking decidedly smug. Much to Edward’s dismay, he strolls to his side, “C’mon, Fullmetal,” he slides on his coat, “It’s time to go.”

“Go where?” his eyes shift between him and Jean Havoc, who was putting out his cigarette.

Havoc slides one of his arms around Alphonse’s neck, dragging him as he walks. Breda checks his watch and tells Falman something about ‘the others’ while Edward only watches, completely dumbfounded.

“We’re taking you out, Chief,”

* * *

**_September 8th, two hours before the wedding_ **

“Winry, h-hey! C’mon,” he’s hunched over her, hands gripping on her arms as she scrambles to her feet, “What’s -- what’s wrong?”

The moment he saw her practically combust, Ed’s mind went blank. This is it, _the_ day they’ve been preparing for and his soon-to-be wife is crying hysterically on the bathroom floor, half-dressed and smelling like vomit. What a life.

Winry sniffs and looks at him, but at the same time doesn’t.

She mewls, “I-it’s bad l-luck to see the b-bride before the w-wedding!”

Edward pinches the bridge of his nose, having heard the phrase one too many times already, “For fuck’s sake, what’s that –” he stops as she lets out a muffled cry, her nose running and he reaches for the toilet paper, “ _Shit_. I’m sorry. It’s okay. Just talk to me, Win,”

He rubs circles on her back as Winry rests her head on his shoulder and slowly but surely, at least her ragged breath is steadying. Someone calls for him from downstairs, but it’s all distant and unimportant.

“I d-don’t know…! I was waiting for Mei and I j-just – I think maybe it’s caught up with me.” She wipes her nose and he pulls away enough to scan her face, “ _This_ ,” she gestures widely, “We’re here. Everyone’s here. We’re getting… _married_.” The word rolls off her tongue like a blasphemy, a slur.

Winry watches him between teary lashes with the most incredulous expression he’s seen her wear in a while and he can’t help but grin. Would even laugh under better circumstances.

“Well duh, gearhead. The assface Emperor of Xing is even here, it’s too late for second thoughts now,” He trails airy kisses on her temple, her wet cheek, her chin before he halts, eyes squinted, “Wait. You don’t, uh, _have_ second thoughts, right?”

As she breaths silently, Ed can feel her body relax in his and when she draws back a couple of minutes later, her gaze playful, he thinks she’s glowing.

“Well, that depends,”

“Winry,”

But she doesn’t stop and cups his face, “About you? All the time. I mean, I tell you to buy milk and you never do. I tell you to oil that damn leg and you never do. I tell you to stay out of trouble and, guess what, you _never_ do.” She tries for lamenting, punctuating every worn down, ironically familiar complaint and the glint of teeth beneath stretched lips gives the act away.

“ _Winry Rockbell_ ,” Ed scoffs and Winry raises one finger, stopping him mid-sentence.

“Uh-uh, it’s not going to be ‘Rockbell’ anymore, Ed.”

He wants to fire back a witty retort, but much like her own realization earlier, the overwhelming implications of their predicament come crashing like a sucker punch to the face. Edward glides one of his hands up his forehead, ruffling bangs in its way. It was all just so… _funny_. They’ve been practically living together for the better part of a decade, blurring lines around in their – whatever _this_ was. He found it harder and harder to fully encompass it with words these days (not that he ever could, so why should he try now.) Despite all of that and the fact that nothing was actually ending, he now drowns in a weird sense of finality.

Ed blinks and swears, because he’s just so eloquent these days.

“…We’re really doing this,”

Winry removes herself from his arms, face lit by a wicked and bright smile as she checks herself in the mirror, “Absolutely,” she turns the faucet on, “Now go, I need to get ready.”

* * *

Edward feels restless, standing in front of what could only be described as an audience waiting for the play to begin. A play he didn’t sign up for, but that he was made to star in nonetheless. He fidgets with his hands behind his back, his bow tie suffocating. It wasn’t overly hot, he’s aware, but something – everything – about the situation left him struggling to breathe. To his right, his brother and best man waits too, clean posture and all. Ed knows that any minute now his bride will come uphill, led by her bridesmaids and Elicia Hughes, carrying a basket full of flowers. So, incredibly nervous and sweaty, he lets his eyes round up the guests for the umpteenth time.

First row, an unlikely pair-off; Sig and Izumi Curtis sit with the Armstrong siblings and both men are to cry the _moment_ Winry sets foot there (the women seem to get along horrifyingly well too.) Havoc, Breda, Falman all sit together, Fuery close by with Hawkeye’s dog on a leash and a blue bow tie for a collar. Denny Brosh, Maria Ross and Garfiel are chitchatting to his left. Gracia Hughes and the LeCoulte’s, together with a client of Winry’s that he cannot remember the name off. Farther in the back, their chimera friends exchange loud inanities with childhood friends and neighbors. Finally, on Winry’s side of the – impossibly ridiculous and totally unnecessary – arch, Pinako stands, her eyes shadowed by her glasses, Riza nearby. Her granddaughter suggested and insisted that she walked her to the altar, but the woman refused (“It has to be a man!” and really, what did Ed expect? Pinako Rockbell locked him out of the house to uphold the most stupid of traditions, after all.) This decision ensued a never-ending dispute about who was better suited to give Winry away – Ling tried to pull rank, Al offered himself as a last resort, Izumi nominated her husband (but he would’ve cried through the whole thing) and no one wanted Alex Louis Armstrong to end up doing it. So naturally, the worst possible candidate was chosen. Behind him, Ling taps Ed’s shoulder as the band – the freaking _band_ – begins to play.

Walking ever so slowly, Elicia Hughes leads the way, throwing petals on the path and brimming with excitement; Mei Chang and Lan Fan (that after collective arduous attempts finally agreed to change out of the ninja attire) follow, wearing matching dresses. Next in line is Paninya, donning a similarly colored suit because not even the bride managed to convince her otherwise. Lastly, Winry appears in a very long, very voluminous strapless dress, a red bouquet in hand and her arm hooked around Mustang’s. As strong as Ed’s primal instinct to completely thrash Mustang is, it becomes an afterthought. All he sees is glowing skin, endless curls of blond hair under a thin veil and as she closes in on the altar, the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on (he’s blushing. He’s got to be, the way his face is burning.) He doesn’t even catch Roy’s smug smirk as the two stop next to him and the man joins at Riza’s side.

Breath stuck in his throat and palms beyond damp with sweat, Edward lifts the tulle above Winry’s head, revealing blushing cheeks, painted lips and big, fiery, loving eyes. He wonders if her heart hammers the way his does, because he can’t even hear the band play anymore. Then, the priest speaks and half the vows are lost on him. There’s just Winry and her pretty eyes, her pretty smile and Ed’s fine with that. If this is what months of back-and-forth’s were for, then it wasn’t such a steep price to pay. He’s seen every inch of her, has seen joy and mischief and patience in her smiles, has listened to her intoxicating laugh and destructive cries and has felt her tentative touches and everything else she had to offer. This shouldn’t be an epiphany, he knows, because this isn’t supposed to be some monumental revelation about all that Winry Rockbell represented since he’s known her all his life and yet.

Winry’s not sure how she managed to walk that far in that – albeit stunning – dress and the heels certainly weren’t helping. It’s almost an out of body experience because she’s also not sure she remembers most of the way there. All she knows is there are people on both sides, waiting and downright _staring_ , good intentions be damned. Winry makes out her boss, some of their friends and eventually her grandmother. Her brain instantly registers that Pinako is crying and if she didn’t spend hours getting prettied up, she would be too; Riza smiles to her right, unusually unguarded and so does Ling, a velvet box in his hand (why they decided to have him hold onto the rings, she’s – again - not sure.) Then there’s Alphonse, who grins so widely his face might tear apart and Ed? She watches his expression change from impatient to stunned in a matter of seconds as their eyes meet and then his never leave hers.

Winry doesn’t even attempt to wonder about the thoughts plaguing his mind because the warmth of his eyes is enough. This here, is enough. The priest begins and she listens, if only to ground herself in the moment. There is no denying she’ll remember it vividly, though she listens. _To have and to hold_ , she thinks about the times he held her together, the time he ripped a gun out of her grip and held her hand almost reverently; _from this day forward_ and all that have been; _for better and for worse,_ tears and kisses come to mind and a boy half-made out of her steel, _to love and to cherish_ because she’s never done differently and she wants to never have to.

“…Till death do you part,”

The priest turns towards Edward and she feels her heart burn with nothing and all at once. Winry looks at his hands as they reach for hers and he slides the silver band on her finger, prompting her to do the same. It’s weird, how often and how largely they’ve touched one another and still, their fingers are wobbly and imprecise and it doesn’t matter.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

She peers up at him expectantly, but it doesn’t seem like Ed needs telling twice.

* * *

“Just so you know,” Al leans over the table, “I was planning on holding a speech,”

Winry giggles, “So why didn’t you?” her eyes follow as one of Ling’s men carefully pushes forward the trolley carrying the cake. 

“Well, for one,” he almost smirks, “I couldn’t think of anything to say other than ‘I called it,’” to which Ed chuckles.

“It’s not too late for a toast,” his eyes travel to his right, “And I’m sure as hell not letting Mustang steal the spotlight,” but just as he does, the music slows into a waltz. 

The sun was beginning to set, painting everything in autumnal hues; surprisingly compliant, Edward grabs Winry’s hand, lacing their fingers together. It won’t be long before the embarrassment catches up with him, he knows, but this dance he can manage. He follows after his _wife_ , holding her close by the waist. He’s not a seasoned dancer and she isn’t a critic and it’s just fine, how they swing slowly; maybe he’ll spin her, dip her, even.

Winry looks at him serenely, “Half?” she whispers in his ear.

His brows furrow and she shies, but doesn’t let it go, “You know, equivalent exchange and all that. Half for half,” she finishes and Ed feels his core heat up at her mirroring stupid words said on a train station platform. ‘Half’ could never encompass what Winry gave throughout the years and he fell beyond short, that much was obvious from the start. Edward couldn’t promise much, but he decides that it’s hers either way.

“I’ll give you all of it,” he breaths, avoiding her eyes – burning - and she chuckles. Then he, too, does. “Maybe not _all_ of it,”

“Eighty-five percent?”

He grins, “Yeah, that sounds good,”

* * *

Winry comes crashing onto the bed when he steps on her train, bouncing on the mattress and causing Edward to roll off on the floor with a thud. She drops her heels by his legs, laughing herself to the brink of tears.

“You just _had_ to pick a ten-feet dress, didn’t you?” he winces, massaging the back of his head.

She keeps at giggling, snorting loudly until the exhaustion pent up in her muscles creeps in, taking over her entire body.. Every spot – especially her feet – aches and the only thing that could somewhat immediately alleviate her sorry state was ditching the dress. Ed rests his head on her lap, sitting on the floor still.

“I’m so tired,” she whispers, “Can you help me get out of this?” he peers up at her lamely, “I can’t breathe in this thing.”

Edward stands and joins her on the bed; it takes him a good few minutes until he figures out how to undo the corset, unzip everything and free her, minutes that seem to go on interminably. Eventually, Winry escapes that gorgeous trap of silk and tulle; Ed buries his face in the crook of her neck.

“You’re such a softy,” she hums, leaning into him.

“ _Shut up_ ,” he yawns, “I could sleep an entire week.”

Winry turns to face him and removes his bow tie, proceeding to unbutton his shirt while at it. Thinking back, the day had started a mess. Her throat burnt after her bathroom meltdown, the taste of acid lingering for hours on end. Ling had initially misplaced the rings and they had to tear the house apart looking for them. The heels gave her blisters before she even made it to the altar, not to mention the actual pain it took to dance (but she did it anyway, barefoot, to the point of dropping dead and having her _husband_ carry her upstairs at four in the morning.) Later down the line, Winry threw away her bouquet and it ended up hitting Alphonse in the head, causing him to spill champagne on Ed’s suit (though he meekly offered the flowers to Mei afterwards.) Several people toasted to them, including a very emotional Alex Louis Armstrong and his sister – brutally – ran interference before he ended up stripping. Gracia Hughes’ had been the sweetest and it drove Winry to tears.

 _What a day_ , she thinks, untying Edward’s hair and running her fingers slowly along his scalp.

“Yeah, let’s do that,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi (:  
> ed's bachelor party could make an entire story all by itself, so i'm not including it now. also i'm all about their domesticity, can you tell  
> might drop a more angsty '03-post-CoS fic soon, because reasons  
> thanks for reading!


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